


I'd rather be skating

by so_shhy



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Anxiety, Don't worry, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, M/M, barely any porn, far too much skating, no dogs die, part-time magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-09-19 05:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 63,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9421292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_shhy/pseuds/so_shhy
Summary: Sometimes, when a muggle child gets an acceptance letter from a wizarding school, they say no.Victor Nikiforov would rather be skating. Yuuri Katsuki would rather be normal.





	1. The visitor

**Author's Note:**

> There's a bit of Russian dialogue (and a couple of other languages), particularly in later chapters. I've done my best with Google Translate, but it's probably wrong. I would LOVE corrections on that. (ETA: Thank you to everyone who helped!)
> 
> Huge thanks to Tawabids for checking things over and Hils for cheerleading.
> 
> Warnings:
> 
> Part of the fic deals with the death of an OC. It happens offscreen but it could be upsetting. If you're worried, check out [the end notes of chapter 9](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9421292/chapters/22890126#chapter_9_endnotes)
> 
> There's an implied sexual relationship between Victor and Chris at one point, when Victor is nineteen and Chris is seventeen. Nothing beyond kissing is actually depicted, and Chris is of legal age in every relevant country. Also, he's Chris.

The summer before Yuuri turned twelve, he and his parents received a visitor. She was a tiny, serene woman in a golden robe, who gave them the surprising news that Yuuri was a wizard. She explained that she was the headmistress of a school named Mahoutokoro, and invited him to come and learn magic.

After more than a few family discussions, the Katsukis politely refused.

Yuuri’s top five reasons, in order of importance, were these:

  1. At boarding school there was no space to be alone.
  2. He wouldn’t have any friends.
  3. The wizarding-born children at Mahoutokoro had started when they were seven, so he would be four years behind.
  4. Even if he could catch up, he would probably be terrible at magic.
  5. He didn’t need another thing that made him different from everyone else.



What he actually said was this:

“Mom, I don’t want to stop skating.”

Sadly, it wasn’t as easy as just saying no.

 

***

 

Two months later, stomach squirming with nerves, he stood in front of the innocuous-looking glass paperweight on his desk, waiting. His parents stood on either side of him. Behind them, Mari was craning to see.

His alarm clock said _17.47_.

“You have your notebooks and pens, dear?” his mother asked for the tenth time.

“Yes, mom.”

“And the snack I packed for you?”

“I’ll only be gone an hour.”

“Let a mother worry. It’s your first lesson.”

“I have my snack.”

The numbers flicked to _17.48._

“I can’t believe you’re just going to vanish into thin air, poof. What if you don’t appear again? Or what if you appear all messed up, like a transporter accident in Star Trek?”

“Don’t upset your brother, Mari.”

“But what if he does? It’s not like we’d know how to put him back together again.”

“Mari! That’s enough.”

Yuuri took a step back. “Mom, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

He glanced at the clock again. _17.49_.

“Now, don’t be silly, Yuuri. You know they said it’s dangerous not to have any training at all. A little part-time study won’t kill you. And I don’t want any more magical snowstorms on days when you have a test at school. I can’t look our neighbours in the face after the trouble you caused.”

“Nobody knows it was me. _I_ didn’t know it was me.”

“That’s not the point, dear.”

There was a faint chime, like a bell ringing in the distance. The paperweight began to glow a soft blue. Yuuri stared at it, frozen.

His dad broke the silence. “Go on, son. Lay your hand on it.”

Yuuri took a deep breath, gripped his book bag tightly in one hand, and pressed his palm to the stone. He didn’t even have time to blink before the world dissolved around him.

 

***

 

He was facing a wall of grey stone. The crystal was still cool under his hand, but now it was part of a row of crystals set into the wall. He drew his hand back and turned around. More grey stone, in a corridor with benches along one side, watery sunlight flooding in from a large window at the end. Opposite the row of crystals was an antique-looking wooden door with a notice on it.

 _Please wait_.

Yuuri looked uncertainly at the benches, then at the window. Curiosity won out. He walked to the end of the corridor. The window looked out onto a hilly landscape, all greens and purples and grey rock, with patches of shadow moving across it from scudding clouds. It was beautiful, but strange.

“Hello,” someone said behind him, in English.

Yuuri turned and found himself face-to-face with a boy with curly brown hair and European features. The boy gave him a friendly smile. “I’m Sam. What’s your name?”

Yuuri’s stomach sank. He was terrible at English. What the boy had just said amounted to the better part of his vocabulary. He barely knew how to count to ten, let alone have a conversation. “Katsuki Yuuri,” he mumbled. He couldn’t remember the English, so he just stuck with Japanese. “I don’t speak English. I’m sorry.”

The boy frowned, then gave an apologetic smile and shrugged. He turned back along the corridor. There was a girl down there now, red-haired and dressed in a t-shirt and shorts that had to be too cold for this chilly building. The boy said hello again, and the two of them started to talk. She seemed to understand English just fine.

One by one, more kids appeared by the wall with the crystals. They were all roughly Yuuri’s age, but other than that they had very little in common. Within two or three minutes another nine children had appeared. The curly-haired boy was now part of a little group of four talking together in English. Another pair were speaking Chinese. Of the remaining five, none of them seemed to have a race or language in common. Yuuri joined them sitting in a silent line along the wall. Obedient to the notice, he waited.

Suddenly from somewhere distant a bell clanged. Seconds later, a clamour of voices and the scraping of chairs emanated from behind the closed door. Yuuri couldn’t be sure, but the cadence of the chatter sounded a lot like Japanese. After another few moments the door burst open to reveal a slender boy a few years older than Yuuri. His long hair flew out loose behind him, such a pale ash-blond it looked almost grey.

“You shouldn’t get so angry,” he said directing a dazzling smile over his shoulder. Yuuri smiled too, because yes, the boy _was_ speaking Japanese. And then suddenly he wasn’t anymore. “Vy poluchite morshchiny.”

“I can’t understand you, Victor!” said a round-faced, dark-skinned girl, coming through the door after him. “You’re outside dem Klassenzimmer, Dummkopf.”

“Uvidimsya!” the boy called. He slapped his hand to one of the crystals on the wall and vanished in a twist of light. Yuuri was still gaping after him when the girl, grumbling under her breath, touched another crystal and was gone.

A half-dozen other teenagers streamed out of the room, calling out in a dizzying variety of languages before disappearing. Finally the corridor was quiet again, until a voice from the doorway said, “Good afternoon, students.”

The speaker was a tall woman with iron-grey hair pulled back into a tight bun, her wrinkled skin covering bone-structure that seemed sharp and angular even by European standards.

“I am Headmistress McGonagall. Welcome to your first class at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and to your first Magical Ethics lesson. Please come in and take a seat.”

She was speaking Japanese, but the other kids didn’t seem to have any problems understanding her. They all got to their feet and shuffled into the room in a line. Yuuri tagged on at the end and took a seat as close to the back of the room as he could.

“As you may know,” Professor McGonagall continued, “Hogwarts is the Wizarding School of the United Kingdom. This year, all of your Magical Ethics classes will take place here. Over your years with us each of the eleven main wizarding schools will take some part in your education. This term you will also be…” she consulted a timetable, “…at Beauxbatons in France for Wizarding Studies, and at Mahoutokoro in Japan for your two hours of Basic Spellwork.

Yuuri frowned and listened harder, trying to focus on her mouth. Something was slightly odd about this. Her lips seemed to be shaping Japanese words, but when he really focused he could catch a couple of English words that he recognised.

Well. Magic.

“Now, you all come from non-magical families, so our first lesson will be to show you a little more of what magic can do.”

She flicked her wand with a murmured word, and three books from her desk fluttered up into the air as white doves, circled the room, and landed back down as books again.

There were gasps from all around the classroom, and a spontaneous round of applause.

Professor McGonagall smirked slightly.

She showed them spell after a spell. She turned into a cat, and back. She made a globe bounce around the room like an out-of-control basketball. She spoke a curse that froze a boy in place for ten seconds, until she said a spell to undo it. She created light and fire, she made it rain from the ceiling and then dried the classroom out.

When everyone was gaping and astounded, she flicked her wand again. Yuuri yelped as his desk and chair lurched into motion. He clung on as he spun and slid across the floor, until the desk came neatly to rest as part of a group. His chair slid itself in underneath, and he stared into the astonished faces of three other kids.

“ _In your groups_ ,” said Professor McGonagall, cutting through the noise, “please discuss these spells and write down any _ethical_ issues you can think of that might come up if you used them in a non-magical environment. For example – Mr Cohen, I believe you want to be a footballer. I expect you can see a problem with a spell that could make a ball move wherever you want it to.”

From the look on his face, Mr Cohen appeared to be the curly haired boy, Sam, who was now sitting opposite Yuuri. “Um… that would be cheating,” he ventured.

“Precisely. You have fifteen minutes to discuss and write down your points, and then we will go through your thoughts.”

There was a silence, broken by a few uncertain noises, and then an increasing trickle of chatter between the groups. At first, very little of it was anything to do with ethics. Mostly it was excited exclamations over the magic, and introductions. Sam took the lead in Yuuri’s group, and the two girls were talkative enough that Yuuri could keep his contributions to a minimum. He listened as they talked. All three had their reasons for turning down their respective magical schools. Aside from Sam’s soccer, there was Banu, a violinist from Turkey, and Ana Lucía from Guatemala who said, with calm dignity, “I won’t leave my mother to manage without me.”

“I’m a figure skater,” Yuuri said shortly when they asked, feeling like a fraud. He knew he couldn’t ever admit that he just hadn’t wanted to go.

Things went on like this until Professor McGonagall stood by each group in turn and coughed pointedly. Then the conversation steered back onto ethical lines.

Yuuri kept his head down for the rest of class. None of the other kids were skaters. Without that connection he couldn’t expect any of them to like him. He didn’t mind very much. He was only going to be in these classes for four hours a week. He wouldn’t need friends.

When the hour finally drew to an end, Professor McGonagall dismissed them with a few parting words about the new experience they were embarking upon. “And remember,” she finished, “you can choose to expand your studies or join your wizarding school as a full time student. You are witches and wizards. You will always be welcome in our world.”

As Yuuri got to his feet and made his way to the door, for a moment he felt so miserable he could have cried. He found it hard enough to fit into his own world. He couldn’t even imagine how awful it would be to have to struggle with a completely new one. He just wanted to be normal.

Then, unbidden, his mind drifted back to the boy with the long hair who’d seemed so bright and carefree, so happy. That boy hadn’t seemed to mind being a wizard.

A touch to the crystal in the wall and he was home again, in his own room, where his parents were waiting.

“How was it, dear?” his mother asked.

Yuuri tried to smile, and felt like he almost managed it. “Fine,” he said. “But I didn’t eat my snack.”

 

***

 

He hated keeping the secret.

It wasn’t so bad trying to explain away his absences to his coach. An hour on Tuesday, an hour on Thursday, and two on Sunday weren’t really so hard to fit in. Worse was keeping secrets from Yuko. Usually, she was the person who he told about his problems. She was older than him, and smarter, and kind and sympathetic, and always willing to listen.

When she asked, “Yuuri, are you OK?” or, “You seem so quiet lately, is something bothering you?” he wanted so much to tell her.

He wanted to explain that the world was suddenly strange and frightening, and there were so many things in it that he didn’t understand, and he wished he could go back to the time when he just didn’t know about any of it. He wanted to tell her about studying Magical Ethics, and all the terrible things he might be tempted to do one day. How he was different, and he could hurt people, and he could cheat, and nobody would know, and it was all so _wrong_. He wanted to tell her how he just couldn’t manage to turn a beetle into a matchbox, as if there was any possible reason someone would want to turn a beetle into a matchbox. He wanted to tell her that there were magical creatures in the world, actual dragons that breathed fire and _ate_ people, and that instead of measles and mumps he had to worry about cerebrumous spattergroit and black cat flu.

He wanted to, but he couldn’t, so he just skated and skated until the only things in his mind were the movement and the music and the ice.

They were still friends, though. He could talk to her about normal things, about school and homework and parents and what was on TV. And skating, of course.

And then in December the Junior Grand Prix Final was on the sports channel at Ice Castle, and his worlds collided.

“Yuuri, watch!” Yuko cried as the commentator announced the next skater. “It’s Victor Nikiforov! He was last year’s champion. He’s just _dreamy_. They say he’ll be Russia’s next skating superstar.”

Yuuri looked up from his hastily scribbled homework and focussed his attention on the screen. At first, he didn’t even realise what he was seeing. He was too mesmerised by the skater’s grace, a sleek and slender figure in black, his ash blond tail of hair whipping out behind him as he swooped across the ice into position. Then the crowd fell silent as they waited for the music to start and the camera zoomed in on the boy as he stood, head bowed. He took a breath and raised his head. As the first few notes fell into the silence, he smiled.

Bright, carefree and happy.

“I’ve seen him before,” Yuuri whispered.

Yuko huffed. “I told you, he won gold last year. _And_ at World Juniors. I didn’t know you’d watched them.” She made a pouting face at him. “You must have done it without me.”

“I’m sorry. I must have.”

“Isn’t he amazing?”

“ _Oh_ ,” said Yuuri, as the boy launched into a flawless triple axel. “Oh, he’s wonderful.”

 

***

 

Once a week. Tuesdays, at 6pm, Victor’s class ended and Yuuri’s began. Once a week, Yuuri got to see Victor Nikiforov in the flesh, watch him walk across the few feet of corridor, watch him touch the crystal in the wall. Watch him smile.

Every time, his breath caught.

Victor was beautiful and brilliant and _different_. Different like him.

Yuko entered into his Victor Nikiforov obsession wholeheartedly. She barely even teased him about it. Together, they copied Victor’s routines and studied his style. When Victor won the Russian Junior competition they scoured the news for any story they could find in Japanese or English. When World Juniors was on TV, they cheered aloud when he took home the gold and watched the tape over again every day for a month.

Tuesday after Tuesday, Yuuri waited on the edge of his seat outside the Hogwarts international classroom for his weekly glimpse of the boy himself.

It was just something he did. It wasn’t weird.

 

***

 

Victor had been absent from class once during World Juniors. A few weeks later, Yuuri was disappointed to find that, once again, he wasn’t in the group of students coming out of the classroom. He sighed, and got up along with his classmates, mentally going over Victor’s schedule. Was there an event? No. There were still a few seniors’ events left, but the junior season was over. There were rumours that it would be Victor’s last junior season. In a few months he might make his senior debut for the Grand Prix, but until then, nothing. Perhaps he was sick. Perhaps he was _hurt_. Perhaps he was…

He was right there.

Victor Nikiforov was walking towards the door, throwing a last goodbye over his shoulder to an unimpressed-looking Professor McGonagall.

Later, Yuuri would be utterly ashamed of himself for the way he behaved. He saw Victor every week. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. But somehow it was. He froze right there in the doorway and stared.

Victor looked back with a quizzical smile.

“Yuuri, you’re in my way,” Sam complained behind him.

Stammering an apology, Yuuri took a too-hasty step, tripped over his own bag and stumbled straight into Victor’s chest. He jerked backwards, tripped again, and landed on the floor with a thump.

There was a chorus of muffled giggles from around the room. Professor McGonagall called for quiet.

“Sorry!” Yuuri gasped, ducking his head down.

There was a pause. Yuuri ventured to raise his head, and found himself looking directly into a pair of bright blue eyes. 

“Hello there,” said Victor. Back perfectly straight, he was bent at the waist so deeply that his nose was on a level with Yuuri’s. He peered into Yuuri’s face, head tilted inquiringly. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Yuuri mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

Victor straightened up smoothly and held out a hand to Yuuri. After a second, Yuuri took it. It was warm and strong. Victor pulled him to his feet. “No harm done,” he said, “so long as you’re not hurt. Yuuri, is it? Hello Yuuri! I’m Victor.”

“I-I know,” Yuuri stammered. “You’re Victor Nikiforov.”

“You know me?”

“I’ve got a poster of you on my wall,” said Yuuri. Then he wished he could sink through the floor. _A poster._ Really?

For a moment, Victor look surprised. Then he broke into a wide smile. “Oh, you’re a fan! That’s so nice. Bring your poster to class someday. I’ll sign it for you! Where are you from, Yuuri?”

“Hasetsu. I mean, I’m from Japan.”

“Really? I love Japan! The whole country is so cute and quaint.”

“Uh… thank you?”

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

“Goodbye,” Yuuri said, and watched dazedly as Victor strode out of the room. He felt like he’d been swept off his feet, twirled around out of control and then dumped back down on the ground again not knowing which way he was facing.

 

***

 

The following Tuesday, when Victor walked out of the classroom, he glanced Yuuri’s way and gave him a smile and a wave.

“Privet, Yuuri!” he called.

Yuuri spent the rest of the day feeling warm all through. Victor Nikiforov _remembered his name_. He only wished he could tell Yuko about it.

 


	2. Yuuri's adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's quite a bit of Russian dialogue in this chapter. You're not really supposed to understand it (Yuuri doesn't) but in case you're interested I put translations in the end notes.
> 
> Again, this is all from Google Translate - corrections would be very welcome!

Over the summer, Yuuri went to two different skating camps. He had to fit in training for the upcoming novice competitions and catching up on any schoolwork where he’d fallen behind. By the time the new September term started, it felt like he’d barely had a break. His life was just so busy.

Minako’s ballet classes were an escape. He didn’t know why. She corrected him and berated him just as much as his skating coaches did. She was fanatical about perfect form and she made him work until his limbs burned and his feet ached. It was just… different.

“You know,” she told him as he did what felt like his millionth set of barre exercises for that day, “you need to get out more, Yuuri.”

“You just told me I need to practise more.”

“You’re not supposed to _listen_ to me. You’re supposed to skip out on your practice and see your friends. That’s your problem. You need friends.”

“I have friends.”

“You have Yuko. That’s not friends, that’s _one_ friend.”

Yuuri thought about Victor, who smiled at him in the corridor in passing. No matter how much he liked Victor, he couldn’t count him as a friend just from that. “I don’t have time for friends,” he said.

“You’re twelve years old. You need to take some time to relax.”

“Skating relaxes me.”

“You’ve got a lot to learn, kiddo. Hey, you know what you should do? You should ask your mom to get you a dog.”

“A dog? Why would I get a dog?”

“They’re man’s best friend, Yuuri. Wouldn’t you like one?”

Yuuri thought about it. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’d have time to look after a dog.”

“You’d make time. Believe me, you get yourself a puppy and you’ll fall in love with it. Ask your mom.”

“Maybe. What should I practise next?

Minako sighed.

 

***

 

At Yuuri’s next magical ethics lesson, Victor was sitting at the back of the classroom, chewing on the end of his pen and looking long-sufferingly bored. As Yuuri’s class trailed in he looked up and gave Yuuri a smile and a wink.

“Eyes on your essay please, Mr Nikiforov,” snapped Professor McGonnagal.

As the class settled down to work, Yuuri tried not to glance over at Victor every two minutes. He failed miserably. It seemed like every time he looked over, Victor was looking back, ready to give him a smile or yawn theatrically or make a silly face. It was impossible to concentrate while he was constantly trying not to giggle or blush.

"Am I boring you, Mr Katsuki?”

Yuuri jerked his head around, mortified.

“No, professor.”

“Then perhaps you could explain to me the ethical dilemmas inherent in the Wizarding Statute of Secrecy?”

“Um…”

Professor McGonagall gave him a withering look over the top of her glasses. “Miss Lee, would you care to enlighten him?”

Yee Peng gave Yuuri an overly sweet smile. “The Statute of Secrecy protects wizards from persecution by muggles, but requires that we don’t help muggles by using magic,” she said smoothly. “Our responsibility to the wizarding world prevents us from aiding those in need. That’s why wizards don’t get involved in muggle wars or create treatments for muggle diseases.”

“Thank you, Miss Lee. Mr Katsuki, perhaps if you paid attention you would also learn something from this class.”

Yuuri wished he could sink through the floor, but he still couldn’t manage to keep his mind entirely on the lesson.

“Class dismissed,” declared Professor McGonnagal when the hour finally ended. “Mr Nikiforov, have you finished?”

“ _Yes_ , professor,” said Victor, sounding tragic and put-upon.

“Thank you. You may leave it on my desk.”

Victor sloped to the front of the room, deposited his essay, and then bounced back to Yuuri’s desk looking much more cheerful. “Hello Yuuri!” he said. “I’m in trouble for not having done my homework. Huh. Skating is more important than homework! I’m making my senior debut this season.”

“I know,” Yuuri said. He was feeling overwhelmed. Victor had been smiling at him all class, and now he’d actually come over to _talk_. It was inexplicable.

“Of course you do! You’re a fan!”

“I can’t wait to watch you.” Yuuri flushed, feeling embarrassed even to mention it, but… “I’m still in novice, but maybe juniors next year.”

“Are you a skater too? Yuuri, I didn’t realise!”

Yuuri nodded shyly, blushing. “Not good like you.”

“Of course not, you’re still young. I’m so glad there’s another skater at this silly school! We should go skating together sometime! Would you like that?”

“What? I mean… _yes_ , but… I couldn’t.”

Victor looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean, you couldn’t?”

“I’m not good enough to skate with you.”

Victor laughed. "If I only liked skating with people as good as me, I’d hardly have anyone to skate with. You’ll get better. Perhaps one day we'll be skating in the same tournaments."

"Oh… no. I-I don’t think so," Yuuri stammered.

"With the right coaching, you could. We can go now if you like! Just for an hour or so. You don’t have any more lessons, do you?”

“Um… no?”

“Perfect!” Victor stood up and turned towards Professor McGonagall. “Professor…”

“Yes, Mr Nikiforov?” said McGonagall, glancing up at him from the parchment in her hand, her eyes narrowed.

“Can I…” Victor hesitated. He tilted his head, flicked his eyes down to Yuuri, and then back to the professor. “Can I just say thank you for making me finish my essay? I learned a lot.” He gave her a dazzling smile. “Goodbye!”

“One moment, Mr Nikiforov,” said McGonnagal sharply.

Victor pretended not to hear. “Come on!” he whispered in an undertone, grabbing Yuuri’s hand. “She’ll only say no, so it’s better not to ask.” He pulled Yuuri, stumbling and surprised, towards the door and through it into the corridor. “I can show you some of my moves. Ya dumayu, chto ya byl by velikim trenerom.”

“I… pardon?” said Yuuri. “Wait! What are you doing?”

Victor blinked at him, then smiled unconcernedly and slapped his palm against one of the crystals in the wall.

When the world solidified around them again, Yuuri found himself in a small room. It looked like an office, with a large desk and file cabinets and a series of medals in frames displayed around the walls. On the desk was a large crystal paperweight, just like his own. Victor gestured around, still chattering away in Russian.

Yuuri tugged vainly to get his wrist free. “I can’t understand you! Where are we?”

Victor turned to look at him, finally seeming to realise that neither one of them could understand the other’s language. He laughed and touched his finger against his lips, then Yuuri’s.

“Oy! Kak veselo!”

He grabbed Yuuri’s hand again and led him out, down a corridor, around a couple of doors, and into…

The space stretched out around them, wide and quiet. The sheet of ice was pristine, untouched.

He was in an ice rink with Victor Nikiforov.

Victor’s _home rink._

It was possibly the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him.

“Ya uveren, chto nekotoryye iz moikh starykh kon'kov podoydut tebe,” Victor declared.

“What?”

Victor laughed again, and led Yuuri over to the skate rental counter. He motioned for him to take his shoes off. While Yuuri stood awkwardly in his socks, Victor inspected the shoes, then hopped over the counter. Ignoring the rental skates, he began to root around in a cupboard. After a minute he re-emerged with two pairs of black leather skates and an elderly-looking purple tracksuit. At the benches, he made Yuuri slide one foot into the first pair of skates. Yuuri wiggled his toes.

“Yes?” Victor said in English.

“Yes.”

Victor nodded, satisfied, and pointed him towards the changing rooms.

By the time Yuuri came out, Victor was waiting for him, lounging against the wall and kicking his skate guards against the floor in a way that would have earned a stern reprimand from Yuuri’s coach. He grinned and made a grand gesture, motioning Yuuri towards the ice.

Yuuri’s stomach squirmed. “I’m terrible,” he said.

“Davai!”

Victor was the first to step out on to the ice. He pushed off smoothly, turned, and glided around the ice backwards with his free leg high as he beckoned Yuuri to join him. Yuuri bit his lip and took a few awkward, ungainly pushes as Victor flowed effortlessly into a double lutz.

Then Victor swooped around behind him, tapped him lightly on the shoulder, and ducked away.

_Tag._

Yuuri gave a breath of absolute relief. This, he could do. He could make a fool of himself chasing Victor around the ice. Just so long as Victor didn’t want to see him fail at his jumps.

“Yuuri,” Victor called encouragingly from the other side of the rink.

They played. Victor was faster, of course, and more agile, and he would have been uncatchable were it not for the ridiculous handicaps he kept giving himself. Skating on one leg only, switching from edge to edge in a hilarious wiggle. Skating _with his eyes shut_ , and Yuuri had to say a firm, English, “No,” to that one, for fear of being to blame for Victor Nikiforov’s career-ending injury. Skating without lifting his feet at all, or with one hand on the ice. They chased one another and laughed and collided until Victor collapsed panting against the barrier, raising his arms in surrender.

They took a water break. Then, when they were ready to begin again, Victor fetched out a CD player. He put in a CD, selected a track, and skated out into the middle of the ice. He gave Yuuri a nod. Yuuri hit play, and Victor began to skate.

The music was fast, dramatic, and so were the movements as Victor sped across the ice and exploded into his jumps. Quadruple toe loop. Combination spin. Triple Axel double loop combination. Quadruple salchow. Another combination spin, and all the time that incredible pace and energy. Like fireworks. Like cannon fire.

When the music jerked to a stop after its final crescendo, the stillness made Yuuri’s ears ring. He could barely breathe. He couldn’t speak, he could only gasp and clap like crazy. Though he couldn’t be sure, he thought perhaps he’d just got a preview of Victor’s senior debut short programme.

Grinning, very well pleased with himself, Victor took a bow. He skated back to the barrier, wiping sweat out of his eyes. Instead of coming to rest, though, he selected another track. Back in the centre of the ice, he began to skate again.

It was just a simple little routine, nothing like what he had skated before. Still, it was beautiful, all smooth swooping curves and turns, and the jumps fitted the music perfectly. He came to a stop, bowed, and smiled. He gestured to Yuuri, then to the ice.

_Now you._

Yuuri shook his head emphatically.

Victor skated back to him and towed him, protesting, into the middle of the ice. Then he skated the first few steps again.

_Now you._

Awkwardly, Yuuri obeyed. Victor skated with him, step for step, then gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. Then he skated through the beats again and tacked the first jump on the end. A double toe loop. One of Yuuri’s better jumps.

_Now you._

Yuuri took a deep breath. Okay. He could do this.

Left, right, three-turn, back crossovers, double toe loop.

“Oh,” he said, coming to a surprised stop. “I made it.”

Victor enveloped him in a hug.

They went through half the routine that way. The elements were well within Yuuri’s ability – just the toe loop, a single salchow and a sit spin. They flowed together in a way that he loved. When Victor started the music again, it was so clear how the rhythms fitted together. They skated through side by side. Then Victor skated to the barrier, leaned against it, and motioned Yuuri to the centre.

_Now you. On your own._

Yuuri should have been terrified. Everything in him should have been begging to stop, to not be stared at by Victor Nikiforov while he skated all on his own. But the routine was so lovely. He just wanted to skate it again. So he did.

As the music went on beyond the point they’d practised to, he kept going, just silly little things, a few steps, a couple of singles, moving his arms in whatever way seemed to fit the music. It felt fantastic.

The last few notes of the song sounded. He spun to a halt, and then flopped to the ice on his hands and knees, panting.

“Yuuri! Eto bylo prekrasno!

He raised his head. Victor was beaming at him, clapping excitedly as he skated over and held out a hand to pull Yuuri up.

“Ty prekrasen, kogda ty kataeshs'a na kon'kakh! Mne nravitsya kak ty dvigayesh'sya.”

Yuuri had no idea what he meant, but it made him happier than anything anyone had ever said to him in his life.

The joyous moment didn’t last. A second later a man’s voice echoed around the rink, sharp and angry. “ _Vitya, chto ty delayesh'?_ ”

Victor sighed. “Yakov. Moy trener,” he said. Still holding Yuuri’s hand, he skated over to the edge, where a scowling, solidly-built man with grey hair was waiting for them.

Victor smiled winningly. “Eto moy drug Yuuri,” said. “Ya privez yego obratno iz shkoly.”

Whatever this meant, it triggered a quite epic argument.

Yuuri couldn’t even begin to follow the torrents of Russian from the man named Yakov, turning from questioning to berating to downright angry. At one point, Victor gestured at Yuuri and turned to Yakov expectantly, as though waiting for him to back down. Yakov obviously didn’t plan on doing so. He kept right on yelling, and Victor kept right on talking back.

Yuuri edged quietly away.

In the changing room, he changed back into his school clothes and left the tracksuit and the skates in a tidy pile by the door for Victor to find. Then he went cautiously back out into the rink, and tried to remember the way to the office.

“Kuda ty idesh'?” said Victor, appearing at his shoulder.

“I want to go home.” He looked at Victor’s puzzled face and sighed. “Japan,” he said in English.

Victor’s face fell a little, but then he shrugged and smiled. “OK,” he said, also in English.

He took Yuuri’s hand and led him around a few corners to the office where the paperweight was lying on the desk, looking clear and innocuous. It wasn’t glowing.

Yuuri met Victor’s eyes and saw his own realisation reflected there. Of course he wouldn’t be able to go back. The paperweight only worked when it was time for class.

Stomach sinking, he reached out and touched it anyway. Nothing happened. It might have been any ordinary piece of glass.

He turned to Victor, horrified. “I’m stuck!”

“Oy,” Victor said worriedly. He tilted his head thoughtfully for a moment, chewing on his fingernail. Then he smiled. He picked up a pen from the desk and pulled a pad of paper towards himself. Yuuri watched as he drew. In the first picture, a smiling, closed-eyed stick figure lay under a rectangle blanket with its head on a rectangle pillow. Victor sketched a quick, blocky house around the figure and drew a crescent moon in the air above. In the next picture, two figures stood holding hands, one of them touching a blob that could conceivably be the paperweight. Victor hummed thoughtfully, then drew a circle, put little dots around its edge at the quarter marks, and carefully drew in hands pointing to four o’clock.

_You can sleep at my house tonight. You can go back with me tomorrow at four._

Yuuri stared at the drawings. This couldn’t be happening. He was in Russia, he couldn’t understand anyone, his parents didn’t know where he was, and he was thousands of miles away from them and everything he knew. His chest was tightening with panic. “I don’t want to be here until tomorrow,” he wailed. “I want to go home!” To his utter humiliation, his lip trembled and tears began to trickle down his cheeks.

Victor’s mouth made an O of surprise. He reached out a hand uncertainly towards Yuuri. “O, ty plachesh'! Ne plach', Yuuri. Chto mne delat'?”

Yuuri hung his head and let the tears fall.

“Poproshu Yakova!”

When Victor ushered Yakov back into the room, Yakov was in the middle of berating Victor again. Victor didn’t look even slightly chastened. Yuuri sniffled, wiping his face on his sleeve at intervals.

Eventually Victor and Yakov seemed to reach some kind of agreement. Victor reached for the notepad again. He drew a stick figure holding a telephone receiver to its ear, and then another, the same except with long hair and a skirt. Under the second figure he carefully printed one of the other English words Yuuri knew. MOTHER.

He pointed to the phone encouragingly.

Yakov made an exasperated noise. He pushed Victor aside, snatched up the pen, and wrote out a short string of numbers under the drawing. He added a long line to show where Yuuri’s own number should go. The dialling code for Japan.

Hands shaking, Yuuri dialled the number.

His mother answered immediately, sounding flustered. “Hello?”

“Mom, it’s me.”

“Yuuri!” she cried. “Oh thank goodness. Toshiya, it’s Yuuri! Where are you? Are you alright? We’ve been worried sick.”

Yuuri blinked at the clock. He’d been gone nearly _three hours._

“I didn’t realise it had got so late.”

“How could you not realise? Yuuri, it’s nearly two in the morning!”

“ _What?_ No it isn’t, it’s…” Yuuri glanced up at the clock on the wall. A quarter to eight. In Russia. “Oh.” He gave a little sob. “I’m sorry, Mom! I’m in Russia with Victor Nikiforov and I can’t get home.”

“You’re _where_?” his mother asked.

“Russia! I didn’t mean to but Victor brought me and now I can’t get back until his crystal lights up again and I don’t know what to do!”

“Yuuri, dear, calm down. Take some deep breaths. Okay?”

“Okay,” Yuuri said. He concentrated on breathing in and out, trying not to think about anything else.

“Better?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, did you say you’re with Victor Nikiforov? Isn’t that the Russian skating boy you like so much?”

“Yes. He goes to magic school too.”

His mother sounded like she was taking deep breaths of her own. When she spoke again, her voice was determinedly cheerful. “Well isn’t that a nice coincidence? You’re always talking about him. So he took you to Russia with him? That’s a little inconvenient. Did you say you can come back tomorrow?”

“Yes. His crystal will activate when it’s time for his next class. Just like mine does.”

“And do you have somewhere to stay tonight? Will his parents feed you?”

“I think he says I can sleep at his house.”

“Well that’s alright then.”

“Mom! I can’t stay here all night! I don’t speak any Russian, I can’t understand anyone!”

“Now, Yuuri, don’t be silly. You’ll be just fine. Besides, the only other thing to do is to fly you home, and that would take almost as long and cost so much more. I’ll call your school in the morning and tell them that you’re sick. You have fun with your skating friend. And remember your manners when you’re a guest in someone else’s house.”

“But Mom…”

“You should hang up now, dear. This call must be costing a fortune.”

“ _Mom!_ ”

“Yes dear? What is it?”

Yuuri hesitated. What could he say, really? She’d brushed aside his every protest, and besides, she was right. The only other option was to get on a plane back to Japan, and that would be pointless. He sighed. “Nothing, I guess.”

“Goodbye then. See you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye,” Yuuri said, and hung up the phone. He turned back to Yakov and Victor.

“OK?” Victor asked, looking worriedly into his face.

“OK.”

Victor beamed in relief, and Yuuri found himself being thoroughly hugged. “Khorosho! Poshli domoy.”

Yuuri pressed his face into Victor’s shoulder, looking for what little comfort he could find. It felt like a very long time until he could go home.

 

***

 

Once he had got over the initial shock, he couldn’t help but be fascinated by Russia. Yakov drove them through streets of vast, ornate buildings, past glittering spires, glass skyscrapers and dazzling lights. Yuuri spent most of the drive with his nose pressed to the window. This had to be St Petersburg, where Victor lived, and it was larger and more vibrant than anywhere he’d ever been.

In contrast, Victor’s house was reassuringly ordinary. The western style of it seemed very foreign, but the moment they stepped through the door Yuuri found the cosy clutter comforting.

“Ko mne, Makkachin! Privet, Mamochka!” Victor called as they went in.

An adorable overexcited poodle puppy scampered to greet them. Behind the puppy came a woman as fair and willowy as Victor. She looked at Yuuri with curiosity, then listened to Victor’s story with an air of growing resignation. After roundly scolding Victor she hugged Yuuri, said incomprehensible but comforting things, then sat him down on the couch and began to ply him with food and drink. Fortified with hot cocoa and surrounded by an array of pastries and other treats, Yuuri began to feel much better about the whole situation.

Once they were well supplied with food, Victor put a video cassette into the player and flopped down beside Yuuri with the remote control. The tape turned out to be a recording of the previous year’s World Championships. They watched companionably for a while. Despite the language barrier, Victor kept pointing things out to Yuuri, trying to convey his meaning via hand gestures and pure enthusiasm. When the Canadian skater’s music came on, he jumped to his feet. “Eto moya lyubimaya pesnya!” he declared. He began to mimic the skater’s arm movements. He threw in a delicate step sequence and then a little leap to stand in for the man’s triple toe loop.  “Krasivaya, verno?”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Davai!” Victor said enthusiastically, and coaxed Yuuri out of his seat to join him.

It was impossible not to enjoy dancing with Victor, both of them bouncing on their toes waiting for each familiar tune from the World Championships to come on. They danced a mixture of ballet and everything else, even throwing in some lifts whenever it seemed right, without needing words to discuss it. The puppy, Makkachin, pranced and yapped excitedly around their feet.

Victor’s mother came in. Even in Russian, “ _What on earth are you boys doing making so much noise?”_ was easy to understand. Yuuri sat down hurriedly, but Victor pirouetted his way over to her and swept her into a dance. She rolled her eyes and let him guide her around for a few beats before disentangling herself with a final laughing admonishment. Victor bowed dramatically as she left, and then bounced back down onto the couch. He sprawled there, giggling, one arm flung warmly around Yuuri’s shoulders.

After that, Yuuri felt perfectly at home, sitting at Victor’s side through dinner while Victor talked excitedly to his mother – talked about _him_ , Yuuri was almost certain. Victor’s mother was so like Victor in looks and in her easy warmth. She seemed like a friend to Victor, as well as a mother. She laughed at him and with him, and he glowed under the light of her smile. It was nothing like Yuuri’s relationship with his own, mother, who was more traditionally motherly, fussy and concerned. Yuuri liked that his mother fussed over him, liked that she worried, but he could see that Victor was happy with things just the way they were.

The disorientation of his surroundings came back to him when he was curling up to sleep on an air mattress in a tiny room under the stairs, with Victor’s old skating gear hanging on a rail above his feet. Although the house was quiet, he couldn’t sleep. He got up and padded down the hall. The door to Victor’s room was open a tiny crack. Cautiously, Yuuri pushed it open a little further, just so he could make sure Victor was there. A small beam of light from the streetlamps glowed in a strip across the bed where Victor snored gently, his pale hair tangled across the pillow around him. In his arms, the little puppy Makkachin raised its head and looked towards the open door, bright-eyed and inquisitive. Yuuri froze, then backed out as quietly as he could. The puppy wriggled out from under Victor’s arm and jumped down onto the floor to follow him.

“ _No, Makkachin. Stay,_ ” Yuuri whispered.

Makkachin licked his foot. Victor gave a little snore and slept on.

Giving in to the inevitable, Yuuri let Makkachin trot alongside him back to the little room. The puppy was warm and sleepy and comforting. Yuuri cuddled him close, just like Victor had, and drifted off to sleep.

 

***

 

The next day when Victor had to go to school, Victor’s mother dropped Yuuri at the rink and he was allowed to skate and skate all day. He was almost sorry when, at a quarter to four, Victor arrived and led him back to the office to touch the glowing paperweight.

The room that faded into view around them was a white-painted hallway with gilt curlicues everywhere. Victor led Yuuri to a door and tapped on it.

“Come in!”

The woman sitting at the desk at the far side of the classroom got to her feet.

“Good afternoon, Mr Nikiforov. And who exactly is this?”

“This is Yuuri,” said Victor. Yuuri glanced up at him, smiling. It was so nice to be able to understand him again. “He’s a second year. I took him home with me yesterday.”

Something about the way the woman sighed made Yuuri think this wasn’t the strangest thing Victor had ever admitted to.

“Yuuri, please wait outside for a moment,” she said. “Mr Nikiforov, I think I need a little more explanation than that.”

Yuuri waited by the door. In the meantime, a few teenagers popped in from nowhere and sat themselves on benches to wait, giving Yuuri looks of faint confusion. It was barely a couple of minutes before the door opened again and the teacher beckoned Yuuri inside.

“Yuuri, we’ll be sending you home now,” she said. “Your own teachers will discuss this with you, but Mr Nikiforov has assured me that the blame lies with him. Shall we?”

“Are you in trouble?” Yuuri whispered as they went out.

Victor grinned and shrugged. “Moglo byt' i khuzhe.”

Back in the corridor, the teacher started one of the crystals glowing and gestured to Yuuri to touch it. Before he could reach out, Victor’s hand brushed against his shoulder. Yuuri turned, and Victor tilted his chin up with one long finger and looked into his eyes with a blinding smile.

“Do svidaniya, Yuuri!” he said.

 

***

 

“Mom,” Yuuri said later that night, once he’d been hugged and scolded and examined for damage, “Minako-Sensei thinks I ought to get a dog.”

“I think that’s a great plan,” said his mother, smiling placidly. “What kind of dog would you like, dear?”

“A poodle,” said Yuuri. “A brown one. I’ll call him Victor.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya dumayu, chto ya byl by velikim trenerom. = I think I would be a great coach.  
> Oy! Kak veselo! = Oh! So funny!  
> Ya uveren, chto nekotoryye iz moikh starykh kon'kov podoydut tebe. = I’m sure some of my old skates will fit you.  
> Eto bylo prekrasno! = That was spectacular!  
> Ty prekrasen, kogda ty kataeshs'a na kon'kakh! Mne nravitsya kak ty dvigayesh'sya. = You’re beautiful when you skate. I like the way you move.  
> Vitya, chto ty delayesh'? = Victor, what are you doing?  
> Yakov. Moy trener. = Yakov. My coach.  
> Kuda ty idesh'? = Where are you going?  
> O, ty plachesh'! Ne plach', Yuuri. Chto mne delat'? = Oh, you're crying! Don’t cry, Yuuri. What should I do?  
> Poproshu Yakov! = I’ll ask Yakov!  
> Khorosho! Poshli domoy. = Good! Let’s go home.  
> Ko mne, Makkachin! Privet, Mamochka! = Here, Makkachin! Hi Mom!  
> Eto moya lyubimaya pesnya! = This is my favourite song!  
> Krasivaya, verno? = Beautiful, right?  
> Davai! = Come on!  
> Moglo byt' i khuzhe. = It could be worse.  
> Do svidaniya = goodbye


	3. Victor's holiday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, translations are at the end and corrections are welcome!

In school that winter, Yuuri wondered if maybe he could begin to count Victor as almost a friend. They didn’t talk – they didn’t have time – but Victor always smiled and waved at Yuuri as they passed.

Outside of the little world of the magical schools, Victor was a dazzling skating star, so beautiful on the ice that Yuuri’s chest hurt with longing just to look at him. Yuuri watched him whenever he could, whenever Japanese TV showed the events, whatever clips he could find on the handy new video website, YouTube. Watched him win. Bronze in the Cup of China. Gold in Skate America. Silver in the Grand Prix final. Gold in Russian Nationals.

Then, all of a sudden, Victor stopped smiling. When school restarted after the winter break, he was quiet. Week after week, he walked across the corridor with his head bowed, eyes distant like his mind was somewhere far away. He didn’t acknowledge Yuuri at all. Hurt and confused, Yuuri took far too long to put the pieces together.

The Winter Olympics.

He couldn’t imagine anything more terrifying. The next week, he wanted to say something, at least wish Victor good luck, but Victor didn’t come to class at all. Nor the week after, and then the Olympics were already upon them.

Yuuri and Yuko snuck out late to the skating rink, where the staff were watching the event on cable TV. Victor’s performance in his explosive short program was glorious, flawless. His hair had been cut short. It fell softly over his forehead and flicked gently with the rush of his movements as he performed.

Two days later, they were glued to the TV for the free skate. It didn’t go well for Victor. He touched down twice and over-rotated badly once. The performance score saved what could have been a total disaster, but it put him in third, with one more skater to go. Johnny Weir of the USA.

Yuuri couldn’t even have described how Weir’s performance went. He spent half the programme with his eyes shut, silently mouthing, _please, please, please_.

It seemed an eternity before the results were in.

_Weir’s score is a disappointing 136.63 – not enough to get him on the podium. A total score of 216.63 puts him in fifth place. So in the final results, Stéphane Lambiel of Switzerland takes the gold, Jeffrey Buttle of Canada takes silver, and seventeen-year-old rising star Victor Nikiforov of Russia goes home with the bronze._

Yuko was yelling in delight, and Yuuri was half in tears with relief. It wasn’t gold, but it was an Olympic medal in Victor’s senior debut season. It was something to be incredibly proud of.

 

***

 

The next time they had consecutive classes, Victor was back. Because he packed up his books more slowly than the rest of his class, Yuuri managed to catch him before he left the classroom and the influence of the translation spell.

“I like your hair,” he blurted. Oh god, _why?_ “Congratulations on the medal.”

He expected a smile, but Victor’s face barely changed. “Bronze.”

“It’s- it’s amazing.”

Victor shook his head. “It’s the Olympics. Do you know how much that means in Russia? Bronze is nothing. We have to take gold.” He huffed out his breath, angry and frustrated. “Why did I have to win Nationals? If I hadn’t qualified, I wouldn’t have had to fail. _”_

“Victor…” said Yuuri, too astonished to say anything else.

“I’ve got two more chances for Olympic gold, if I’m lucky. Vancouver in four years, and then… Sochi is putting in a bid for 2014. If it’s in Russia, I _have_ to win.”

“You will.”

“I tried so hard,” said Victor. He looked unutterably tired. “It was so hard, Yuuri, and it wasn’t enough.”

 

***

 

Victor placed seventh in worlds.

The next week at school he smiled at Yuuri, but not happily. He looked wan and pale, entirely unlike his usual buoyant self.

Back home, Yuuri hugged Vicchan because he couldn’t hug the real Victor. He fretted over it day after day. Even when he was skating, he couldn’t get Victor’s tired eyes out of his head. Three weeks before the summer break, he plucked up his courage and accosted Victor as he was leaving class.

“My family runs a hot spring in Hasetsu. Please come to visit me.”

Victor stared at him. “Visit you?”

Yuuri knew he was blushing. He probably deserved to be, making this big an idiot of himself. Victor was just going to think he was crazy. But he couldn’t leave Victor looking this sad without even _trying_ to help

“Like w-when I went to Russia with you. We, um, we can go to the beach and, and soak in the hot spring. My mother – she’ll cook for you.” The words kept on tumbling out. “She makes the best pork cutlet bowls. Really. It’s a speciality. And the hot springs are very relaxing - everyone says so.”

“Yuuri,” said Victor, cutting through his babbling.

“Sorry.”

“You know we’ll both get in trouble this time, right?” said Victor.

Yuuri felt a shy smile creep across his face. He was pretty sure that was a yes.

 

***

 

The next week, as they passed in the corridor, Victor winked. Yuuri sat through his class in a fluster of excitement and anxiety. When he rushed out at the end of it, he found Victor waiting for him.

“Privet, Yuuri.”

“Hi,” Yuuri gasped. Before he could lose his nerve, he grabbed Victor by the wrist, tugged, and slapped his hand over one of the crystals in the wall.

They tumbled out of the air into his bedroom with a clatter.

“Yuuri?” his mother called from below. “Is that you? You need to take the dog for a walk.”

Yuuri glanced up at Victor, who was looking around interestedly at his bedroom, then eyed the door with misgiving. There was no putting it off. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, he reminded himself as he took Victor’s hand to lead him downstairs.

“Yuuri?”

“I’m coming!” he called.

His mother met them at the bottom of the stairs. “Yuuri, dear,” she said, puzzled, “Who’s your friend?”

“Yuuri has a friend?” Mari called interestedly from the next room. She appeared in the doorway, and her eyes widened. “Whoa. Who’s _he_?”

“Mom, this is Victor from school. He’s come to visit.” Yuuri nudged Victor and said, in English, “My mother.”

Victor held out his hand. 

“He’s staying here until my next class. The day after tomorrow.”

Yuuri’s mother shook Victor’s hand politely. Smile not wavering in the slightest, she said, “Really, dear, you might give me some notice when you invite people to stay.”

“He’s the skater, isn’t he?” Mari asked. She looked Victor up and down. “He’s _gorgeous._ Look at those eyes. Look at that _body_!”

“Mari, Stop! Mom, make her stop,” Yuuri wailed.

“Don’t fuss, dear,” his mother said in her usual placid way. “He doesn’t understand.”  She smiled at Victor. “You speak English?” she asked.

“Yes,” Victor said, looking surprised and pleased.

Yuuri blinked. He hadn’t considered that Victor and his mother would be able to understand each other, even though her English was good enough to handle the few foreign tourists who visited Hasetsu. As he listened to the two of them talk, it seemed that Victor’s English was as good or better, when he wasn’t using single words for Yuuri’s sake.

Yuuri suddenly felt very young. Here was Victor, who could chat away with adults in a different language without looking even slightly ill-at-ease. And he was visiting Yuuri, who could barely manage a conversation in his _own_ language.

Whatever Victor was saying – or perhaps just the power of his smile – was leaving Yuuri’s mother looking even more placid about his presence. By the time she switched back to Japanese she seemed to have accepted him unconditionally.

“You can take him down to the beach, Yuuri, and take the dog for a walk at the same time. We’ve got guests at the hot springs, and I don’t need a parcel of boys getting under my feet while I cook. Mari, come and help me. Leave Yuuri and his friend to have their fun.”

She bustled back to the kitchen, with Mari traipsing unwillingly after her. Yuuri sagged with relief. He glanced up cautiously at Victor.

Victor smiled. “Your mother is nice,” he said, in English slow enough for Yuuri to follow.

”Nice,” Yuuri confirmed awkwardly. “Um. Dog?”

“Dog?”

“Dog,” Yuuri repeated, and took Victor to find Vicchan.

When he opened the door to the yard, Vicchan bounded over and greeted him affectionately. Then he turned his big brown eyes and soft wet nose to Victor. Victor held out his hands to let Vicchan sniff, and then started petting him enthusiastically.

“Pokhozh na Makkachin, no malen'kiy! What’s his name?”

Yuuri knew perfectly well what the English meant, but he absolutely didn’t want to answer the question. He shrugged and tried to look uncomprehending.

Victor didn’t let him get away with it. “Victor,” he said, pointing to himself. “Yuuri.” Then he pointed at Vicchan and gave an inquiring look.

“Vicchan,” Yuuri admitted, desperately hoping that Victor wouldn’t understand where the nickname came from.

Victor burst out laughing. It was the first time Yuuri had heard him laugh in months.

 

***

 

Outside, it was the end of a bright summer’s day. They walked along the shoreline and threw a ball for Vicchan. Victor breathed deeply, and stretched his arms wide. He turned his face to the sky, looking up at the crying gulls. Yuuri thought maybe he looked better, a little. His expression seemed lighter, his shoulders more relaxed.

To fill the silence as they walked, Yuuri called to Vicchan, and crooned at him and petted him whenever he brought the ball back. Victor didn’t speak. He walked and breathed and rolled his shoulders in the warmth of the evening sun.

After a while, Yuuri glanced over to see that he was fiddling with something – a stick of some kind – running his fingers over it as though it were smooth and pleasant to the touch. It wasn’t a beach stick; it was long and thin, pointed at one end. In a flash, Yuuri realised what it was.

“You have a wand!” he said, pointing urgently.

Victor turned, laughing at his astonishment. “Seventeen,” he said in English, and tapped his own chest. “Mne razreshayut ispol'zovat' magiyu.”

It was another reminder that Victor was practically a grown-up, someone who could talk in English and had a wand of his own and had an _Olympic medal._ Someone who was way too amazing to be Yuuri’s friend.

Victor held out the wand to him.

“No!” Yuuri yelped. “I’ll break it or… or turn you into a frog, or something.” He wracked his brains for some English, for anything that might distract Victor. “You,” he said, gesturing _swish, flick_ like he’d been taught in class.

It wasn’t much, but it got his point across. Victor looked around, and then walked over to crouch by a piece of green reed poking up from between the pebbles. He tapped it with the wand and murmured a spell. The reed shimmered and became a rose bush, the white roses in full bloom.

“Oh,” Yuuri breathed. “Beautiful!”

Victor grinned at him. He plucked two roses from the bush, tucked one behind his ear and offered the other to Yuuri. Staring down at the snowy, impossibly perfect petals, it took Yuuri long seconds to find the English to say thank you.

Victor got to his feet and slung his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. They walked along the beach with Vicchan at their heels, Victor gazing out at the sea, and Yuuri clutching his flower.

 

***

 

After the walk, before dinner, Yuuri took Victor to the hot spring. Victor was all approval, washing quickly and making delighted noises as he lowered himself into the water. Yuuri left him to soak, getting out of there as fast as he possibly could before Victor could see his face. He felt thoroughly confused. Of course no one wore clothes in the hot springs, but Victor had somehow seemed much more _naked_ than anyone else Yuuri had seen in there.

It was silly. Naked was naked, there was no more or less about it.

He wiped his hands over his face and went to do his homework.

When he was done, he found that Victor was out of the baths and at the dinner table, dressed in a pair of Yuuri’s father’s pyjamas and looking as much at home as if he’d been born a Katsuki. He was already most of the way through a pork cutlet bowl. “ _So_ good,” he told Yuuri in English, and went right back to stuffing his face.

Yuuri went to sit at the place next to him and watched, impressed, as he fished with his chopsticks for the last morsels and looked hopefully around for more. Smiling, Yuuri’s mother went back to the kitchen. She placed another pork cutlet bowl in front of Victor, and delivered Yuuri a bowl of steamed salmon. Victor looked between the bowls, puzzled. He frowned, then inched his bowl in Yuuri’s direction.

“No, no,” Yuuri’s mother cut in, and went off into a stream of English. _Oh god_ , _she can’t_ , Yuuri though, mortified. But she could. She was definitely explaining all about his constant struggle between his love of pork cutlet bowls and the need to keep his weight down. She was explaining it to _Olympic medallist Victor Nikiforov_.

Victor laughed. He poked an experimental finger into Yuuri’s stomach, made a disapproving tutting noise, and pulled the bowl back towards himself. Yuuri tried to hide behind his salmon.

After cramming the last few mouthfuls of his second pork cutlet bowl into his mouth, Victor groaned with satisfaction and collapsed elegantly onto his back. Vicchan went over to sniff his prone form, interested by this new development. Victor reached out to cuddle him, and in a very few minutes the pair of them had fallen asleep, sprawled out over half of the floor.

“Your friend is a little strange,” said Yuuri’s mother as she stepped over Victor’s long legs to clear the table. “Still, it’s nice to see you bring someone new home with you.”

 

***

 

The next day, Yuuri begged his mother to be allowed to stay off school, but she held firm. She could deal with unexpected Russian guests, but they would not get in the way of her son’s education.

Victor couldn’t spend the time skating, the way Yuuri had in Russia – the staff at Ice Castle would have recognised him instantly – but he seemed perfectly happy to stay at Yu-topia.

The whole day at school, Yuuri fretted, wondering whether Victor was bored. When the final bell rang he leapt out of his seat and ran home as fast as his legs would carry him.

“Mom, where’s Victor?”

His mother rolled her eyes. “Well, he’s not in here stuffing his face, so he’s probably asleep with the dog.”

Yuuri made his way upstairs. Victor was, indeed, sprawled out on the mattress on Yuuri’s floor with an armful of Vicchan.

“Victor?”

Victor didn’t stir. Vicchan only opened one drowsy eye to look at Yuuri, then closed it again and snuggled closer into Victor’s arms.

Yuuri tiptoed away.

“Still sleeping?” his mother asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Go to your ballet class. He’s happy doing nothing.” She touched his cheek. “Yuuri, we’re proud of you, but I need you to know – if you ever want to stop skating, it’s okay.”

“I don’t want to stop skating.”

“But if you ever do…” She sighed. “Never mind, dear. Go to your class. Victor is fine.”

The evening continued that way. After ballet, Yuuri did his homework and his exercises. Victor dozed and ate and soaked in the hot springs.

When they were back in Yuuri’s room for the night, Victor took a pad of paper and a pen from Yuuri’s desk. He drew a stick figure, added blocky skates on the end of its legs, and drew a large oval around it to serve as a rink.

“Huh?”

Victor pointed to the paper, then out of the window towards the dark city.

“We can’t go skating.” Yuuri pointed to the clock. “The rink’s closed.”

Victor wrinkled his nose and grinned. Out of his sleeve he produced his wand. He gave it an emphatic flick of demonstration.

Yuuri felt his mouth drop open.

Five minutes later he was leading Victor through the streets, with the thrill of the forbidden fizzing in his blood. When they arrived at the rink, Victor opened the doors with a tap of his wand and a whispered _alohamora_. Another wave of his wand lit the wide space of the rink with floating balls of flame, and a third transfigured the ugly rental skates into sleek black leather boots.

There was no music in the rink: only the swish and scrape of blades on ice. They didn’t talk. They took it in turns. One of the best skaters in the world, skating for an audience of one awed thirteen-year-old. One thirteen-year-old, skating for one of the best skaters in the world.

With every turn and spin and jump he performed, Yuuri thought: _This is for you_.

When he tried a double Axel he felt himself spinning into three rotations, four. He landed lightly, astonished, to find Victor tucking his wand back into his sleeve, face bright with laughter. Yuuri laughed too, revelling in the memory of height and freedom, longing for the day when he would launch into a quad on his own.

Both literally and figuratively, it was a magical night.

The next day, when the pair of them took the crystal back to school, they were both definitely in trouble. Yuuri was set lines to write, and a thousand-word essay on responsibility. It was worth it. Worth every second.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pokhozh na Makkachin, no malen'kiy! = It looks like Makkachin, but small!  
> Mne razreshayut ispol'zovat' magiyu. = I'm allowed to use magic.


	4. Enchantment on ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick skating season overview! To vastly simplify: the season starts in autumn with the Grand Prix series and ends with the World Championships in March/April. Between them come the national championships, then Europeans and its non-European equivalent, the Four Continents. The junior version of everything tends to happen a month or so before the senior.
> 
> I know absolutely nothing about figure skating except for from YoI and Wikipedia, please correct me if I’m wrong!

Yuuri’s third year at magic school was also his first season as a junior, and the most miserable time of his life so far.

He just didn’t measure up. Even among the other thirteen year olds, he was nothing special. Compared to the older boys, his efforts were laughable. At competitions he felt lost. Everyone was intense, focused, _professional_. He felt like a stupid child. It was as though up until then he had been play-acting at being a skater. He’d been a little boy yelling, “Mom, look at me!” as he flailed crazily around on the ice, thinking he was dancing.

“It’s just nerves, Yuuri,” his coach, Hiro-sensei, told him one day, after his shameful score had been read out. “You can handle these routines in practice. You know you can be competitive at this level.”

“Yes, Sensei,” Yuuri mumbled, hanging his head. His hip ached from the fall on the ice and he was shivering in his flimsy costume. “I’m sorry.”

Hiro-sensei sighed. “We’ll work on it together. You can go, your mother is waiting.”

 

***

 

Working on it together didn’t work.

If anything, his scores got worse as the year went on. He was always behind with his practice, his schoolwork, his magic. He got so used to being tired that he barely noticed it, but he only ever seemed to become more aware that he was hungry.

He hadn’t eaten Katsudon for months. After one particularly crushing local competition, his mother made it for him anyway. Guiltily, miserably, he ate it all and went back for seconds. He spent that night, and many other nights that year, crying quietly into Vicchan’s fur.

 

***

 

“Maybe your programmes were bad this season,” said Victor, hip cocked against Yuuri’s desk as Yuuri packed up his books.

It was the end of March. The season was over. The magic school year was more than half done. Victor, now in his seventh year, had less than three months left there. Yuuri was trying not to think about that.

“It wasn’t the programmes,” he said, flushing. “I messed up all my jumps.”

“Oh!” Victor gave him a curious look. “You got good presentation scores, then?”

“No. I messed up everything.”

Victor frowned. “Jumps are easy to fix,” he said, with all the unconcern of someone who’d been landing quads for years. “Presentation – I don’t know what’s happening there. Maybe you need a new coach. It’s a shame Yakov won’t take you on.”

“He… what?”

“Presentation will come. Work on your jumps and next season will be better. You’re willing to work hard, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am!”

“Then you’ll be fine. Don’t worry so much.” Victor wrinkled his nose and grinned. “You ought to listen to me, Yuuri. I’m a Grand Prix champion now.” His grin faded. “Worlds, though… Did you watch me last week?”

Yuuri nodded fervently. “I thought you should have won.”

“Oh, you’re sweet!” said Victor, laughing. “But you’re wrong. I was lucky to get on the podium. Yakov wouldn’t speak to me for two days. I think he overreacted. Lots of coaches would be happy with bronze.”

“That’s not fair! He shouldn’t be mad at you. No one’s _ever_ landed a quad flip in competition!”

“Well…” Victor bit thoughtfully at the end of his fingertip. “He did make me promise not to try it.” He dropped his voice to a growl. “ _‘Vitya, you can win without any of that flashy nonsense. Just skate your routine!’_ ”

Yuuri’s mouth dropped open. For Victor to try a quad flip in the World Championships had been outlandish enough. For him to do it against the express orders of his coach was bordering on insane. 

“And he was right that I’d have won if I stuck to the sal,” Victor continued, unworriedly. He shrugged, and his eyes went dreamy as he smiled. “Can you imagine the judges’ faces if I’d landed that flip?”

“But,” Yuuri began helplessly, “I thought you had to win gold. After the Olympics…”

 “The Olympics is different.” Just briefly, Victor’s face hardened. It was only for a second; then his smile was back, and enthusiasm lit his eyes again. “Worlds – I’ll win it next year. _And_ I’ll land the flip.”

“Mr Nikiforov,” Professor McGonagall’s voice interrupted them. “As far as I recall you don’t have class here today. Is there any reason you’re cluttering up my classroom?”

“I came over from Beauxbatons, Professor.” Victor flashed his best smile and, with a flourish, produced a signed permission slip. “I wanted to talk to you about the end-of-year show.”

Professor McGonagall looked close to rolling her eyes. “Indeed. Well then, go ahead. Mr Katsuki, you may go.”

“No, it’s about Yuuri too,” said Victor.

Yuuri spun around to stare at him.

“You see,” Victor continued blithely, “he and I are both skaters so obviously we’ll be performing together.”

“ _What_?” said Yuuri. He waved his hands frantically at the teacher. “No, no we’re not! We won’t be! I’m not performing at all.”

Victor frowned. “Yes, you are.”

“I’m not!”

“Of course you are.”

“ _Perhaps_ ,” Professor McGonagall cut in sharply, “you gentlemen would like a moment to get your stories straight before you waste the entirety of my afternoon?”

She moved off to greet the students making their way into the room. Victor rounded on Yuuri, eyes wide with surprise. “Yuuri, don’t you want to perform with me?”

“Are you crazy?” hissed Yuuri. “I can’t perform with _Victor Nikiforov_! My last competition I fell over out of a sit spin.”

Victor’s face cleared. “Oh, is that all? Don’t worry, I’ve choreographed a programme that will make you look _wonderful_.”

“You already choreographed it?”

“Of course! I knew you’d want to do it. We’ll be so good together. Please say you will!”

Yuuri might not know a lot about wizardry, but he was pretty sure there was no magic in the world more powerful than Victor’s pleading eyes. “O-okay,” he stammered.

“Wonderful!” Victor grabbed him by the hand and dragged him over to Professor McGonagall. “We’ll be performing together,” he declared.

“I thought you might be,” said Professor McGonagall, giving Yuuri a dry look. “Well then, Mr Nikiforov, what did you want to ask me?”

“You see, we need to practise,” said Victor, sweetly wide-eyed and hopeful. “And it’s difficult when we live on different continents. Could Yuuri come to Russia with me a few times a week?”

“By absolutely no means,” said Professor McGonagall sharply. “Not after the debacle last time.”

“But, _Professor_ …”

The eyes had an effect on Professor McGonagall too, it seemed. She softened.

“I suppose we can arrange something. In fact, you can work on your charms and learn how to create an ice rink here at Hogwarts. But I will not have you gadding off to Japan on a whim – or you to Russia, Mr Katsuki. Is that understood?

“Yes, Professor.”

“You will, of course, be outside the reach of this classroom’s translation spell.”

“That’s fine. We’ll manage.” Victor beamed, and slung his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “We’re going to show you skating like you’ve never seen before.”

 

***

 

The Hogwarts end of year show was a new initiative celebrating what the Hogwarts teachers called ‘muggle culture’.

Yuuri knew all about the things that had happened in Britain a decade earlier. His Wizarding Studies lessons had gone on and on about it: Voldemort and the Death Eaters and anti-muggle discrimination. He supposed it was important that British wizards kept on learning about the value of the muggles.

 _Something that expresses the reason you decided to choose the muggle world over the wizarding one_ , Professor McGonagall had said, when she asked for volunteers.

At the time, Yuuri had hunched down in his chair and tried not to be noticed. He’d been well aware that, while Victor Nikiforov’s skating might convince the Hogwarts kids that muggles were worth something, Yuuri Katsuki’s definitely wouldn’t.

 

***

 

A week later, Victor was back at Yuuri’s desk, this time with his skate bag slung over his shoulder.

“You’re going to love the music,” he was saying, as Yuuri tried to pack up his bag in record time. “I had it composed specially. It’s called _Enchantment_.”

“You did? _When_?" asked Yuuri incredulously. He couldn’t imagine how Victor had found time plan out a whole routine, commission music, and do the choreography, in the midst of a skating season.

“Oh, here and there.”

“Is it a pairs routine?”

Victor laughed. “Do you think you could keep up with me, skating pairs?”

“N-no.”

“No,” Victor agreed cheerfully. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you. There’s a different routine for each of us, skated together. I’ve put in a couple of lifts, but other than that we barely touch. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Victor led him along the familiar corridor and out, beyond the tiny segment of the school that he knew. He found himself staring around at paintings that moved under his gaze, staircases that slid off in unexpected directions, tapestries and suits of armour and children in black robes and striped ties. The children stared back at him and Victor, murmuring to each other. The two of them must have looked out of place, with their ordinary clothes and their brightly coloured skate bags. Yuuri was glad when Victor turned off into an empty classroom.

Inside it, there was a strange sense of a space that had been vastly stretched. Desks clustered at each corner of the room, but the wide expanse in the centre was empty of anything but a flat sheet of ice, a couple of inches thick, and apparently unmelting.

“Good, yes?” said Victor in English. “I made it.” He flourished his wand.

“Yes. Very good.”

“We need to warm up.”

Yuuri nodded to show that he understood, and started his warmup without saying anything more. His English comprehension had improved a lot, but he didn’t feel confident stringing more than a couple of words together.

Unconcerned by his silence, Victor chattered on in English as they ran through their stretches, about skating, and the routine, and the rink, and other things that Yuuri couldn’t even begin to follow, and didn’t bother to try. Victor’s voice was soothing as he rambled.

Finally Victor pulled up a chair and laced up his skates, then did a few final stretches before taking off his skate guards and stepping cautiously onto the ice sheet. He skated a few circles of the rink, then produced his wand from his sleeve and gave it a quick swish before tucking it away.

“Watch,” he said. “This is me.”

Out of the air, the first strong chord of the music rang through the silence, and Victor began to skate. He moved with purpose. He was going somewhere, Yuuri thought. He had something important to do. Then the music changed, a flowing theme breaking through the resolute chords. Suddenly Victor was distracted. He gazed around in wonder as he twirled through some amazing space. He reached out to touch beautiful things, to caress them with his fingertips. The chords fell away completely. There was only loveliness.

Another line of melody slowly swelled. This one was bright but somehow sharp and fierce in its liveliness. Victor was drawn along with it, following something. Delighted. Dazed. Enchanted. He was intent on his target. Yuuri could almost see a figure flitting ahead of him, enticing, getting further and further away. Victor moved faster, desperate to reach whatever it was. He flung himself forwards but it wasn’t enough. The figure was gone. Victor spun in frustration and disappointment. Then he looked around himself with dawning realisation. He was lost. He was trapped, frightened. He dashed from side to side, searching for a way out but not finding one. Defeated, he sagged to the ice in despair.

After the music died away he held the pose for a few moments more, then pushed himself back up onto his blades and swept in a lazy curve back to the edge of the ice.  His cheeks were flushed with effort. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Yuuri echoed, as breathlessly as though he’d been the one skating.

“One minute,” said Victor, grinning, and pushed off for another couple of slow turns around the rink. Then he circled back to a point closer to the far end than the middle.

“Watch again,” he called, and the first chords filled the room.

This dance was entirely different. Victor skated sweet little step sequences, dancing simply for the joy of it. The bright melody of the piece’s second half had been there all along, Yuuri realised, barely audible beneath the surface of the music. It was sweet and happy. Then the music reached the point where the first dancer had begun to look around in amazement. Victor seemed to notice something. For a short while he watched, swooping from side to side of the rink, growing angrier and angrier. Then he leapt into action. His movements were mesmerising but malicious, the step sequence taking him across the ice in ever wider loops and turns, faster and faster. He finally drifted to the far end of the rink, twirling into a pose of pure, spiteful victory.

When he skated back to Yuuri he was barely out of breath.

“Understand?” he asked.

Yuuri nodded avidly. He could see it all there in the movements. The first skater was a hero on a quest who stumbled into a secret place – perhaps the garden of a fairy. Then the fairy, furious at the hero’s trespass, enchanted him and led him away into the inescapable depths of the forest. Yuuri could feel the fairy’s melody fizzing through his blood. He wanted to listen again, to hear that point where the tune swelled into something both alluring and malevolent. He longed to see the fairy’s dance again, and longed even more to skate it himself. _I can’t do it_ , he thought. But, deep down, he somehow knew that he could. Despite its intricacy, the routine was much easier than the previous one. It had just two jumps, and the rest was almost entirely the types of step sequences that he loved. It could have been made for him.

It _had_ been made for him.

“Davai, Yuuri!” said Victor, and held out his hand.

 

***

 

Every other day, Victor drilled him on a new segment of the routine. Then they refined every movement, every gesture, with Victor always encouraging and enthusiastic but never satisfied. Although he’d been working hard in his English lessons that year, Yuuri couldn’t catch a lot of what Victor said, but, as Victor had predicted, they managed. He had no trouble with things like _faster_ and _slower_ , and simple sentences.

_“No, watch me.”_

_“You are angry. I am afraid.”_

_“Do it again.”_

_“Arms wider, Yuuri.”_

_“Don’t worry. You are very small.”_

That last was when they started to practise the lifts.

There were only two, fitting into the routine when Yuuri’s fairy creature first began to mesmerise Victor’s questing hero. Yuuri wasn’t actually worried that he’d be too heavy for Victor. Victor was full grown by then, boyish lissomness converted to lean, lithe muscle, and Yuuri’s head barely came up to his chin. The worry was all surrounding the strange feelings that fluttered in his stomach when Victor’s hands were on him, the warmth that flushed over his body and chest, and the way his breath caught. Skating with Victor was overwhelming. Touching Victor was almost too much to bear.

In desperation, he threw himself into the emotion of the routine.

_I will punish you. I have power over you._

Even when they weren’t skating together, he had to focus on that. He reached out his hands, weaving magic with his fingertips as he raced backwards across the ice. He threw up his head, miming a mocking, vindictive laugh. He dragged an imaginary victim along in his wake.

“Amazing, Yuuri!” called Victor from the edge of the rink.

 

***

 

For as long as he’d been allowed to, Yuuri had always loved skating alone after Ice Castle had closed. In the short two months before the Hogwarts show he did it obsessively, repeating sections of the _Enchantment_ routine over and over again.

Unfortunately, it didn’t leave time for much else.

“You haven’t been practising at all, have you?” demanded Hiro-sensei, after Yuuri had flubbed a triple toe loop for the third time in a row. “After the season you’ve had, you need to put in some serious work. Jumps are your weakest point, and you _haven’t been practising!_ ”

Yuuri hung his head as guilt washed over him.

It was perfectly true. Even when he did go over his jumps he was hearing _Enchantment_ in his head, and his feet would dance into the steps without his permission. He’d launch into a triple toe loop and find himself coming out of a double, then seven quick steps, a spread-eagle, and _there’s where Victor will be for the lift…_

“I’m sorry, Sensei,” he said.

“This is unacceptable. You can’t coast through on pretty footwork anymore. If you can’t land your jumps you’ll never get anywhere in competition.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I-I’ll do better.”

“If you aren’t committed to winning, go back to Minako-sensei and be a ballet dancer. Stop wasting my time and yours.”

“Please,” Yuuri said, feeling tears start in his eyes. “I’ll work hard.” _In three weeks,_ he added silently. _Not now._

His coach sighed, anger fading into weariness. “Yuuri, I know you have potential, but you need to start showing me something special. Otherwise in five years you’ll just be a kid who maybe made the podium in juniors once, and you’ll spend the rest of your life teaching six year olds, if you don’t leave skating completely. Is that what you want?”

Yuuri shook his head wordlessly. The tears were choking him.

“Then impress me. Show me you have a professional skating career ahead of you.”

“Y-yes, Sensei.”

Hiro-sensei looked at him, long and assessing, and finally nodded. “Alright. I’ll leave you for today, but tomorrow you will land that jump. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sensei.”

Alone on the rink, Yuuri leaned on the barrier and sniffled into a tissue for a while. Then he skated back into the centre of the ice and ran through the steps of his _Enchantment_ routine again.

He didn’t land the jump the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that.

 

***

 

“One week to go. It’s exciting, right?” said Victor.

They’d ducked back into the empty international student classroom after their practice, so they could talk properly for a little while.

“You really think I’m going to do okay?” said Yuuri.

“Don’t you have faith in me? You’re doing beautifully. Your coach must be a fool if he’s been letting you get low presentation scores this year. The way you move to the music really is enchanting.”

“Y-you think so?”

Victor gave his sunniest smile. “Of course! If you weren’t good I wouldn’t have asked you to skate with me.”

“I won’t let you down!” blurted Yuuri. He wasn’t sure if it was true, but he had never been more determined to try.

Later that night, tucked up in bed, he kept seeing the soft look in Victor’s eyes when he said, “ _The way you move to the music.._.”

It felt like he could do anything.

 

***

 

On the day of the show, Yuuri woke from a swirl of unsettling dreams, his chest already tight with anxiety. He couldn’t eat breakfast. The school day passed too quickly and too slowly, with the clock ticking inexorably towards zero hour. When it was finally time to leave for Hogwarts, he stood in his bedroom taking deep, shaky breaths for long minutes, until he worked up the nerve to press the tip of his finger to his crystal.

In the corridor, Victor was waiting for him. He was already dressed for the show, in a sleek costume of grey with red accents. Yuuri’s brighter, gauzier costume was draped over his arm.

“Yuuri!” he exclaimed, pulling Yuuri into a brief, one-armed hug. “How are you? Are you ready?”

Yuuri nodded firmly, not trusting his voice.

“Good! Let’s go.”

Yuuri trailed him through unfamiliar school corridors, barely noticing the living portraits and the moving staircases. Finally they turned through a doorway into a wide hall, with a ceiling like the sky and tiers of seats sloping down towards a stage. There was the usual, familiar bustle of preparation that Yuuri knew from school shows and skating exhibitions back home. He and Victor had very little to do. Once they were in their costumes, they found a spot off to the side of the stage and began their warmup routines.

Halfway through Yuuri’s usual set of stretches, a buzz of voices filled the space as the Hogwarts students filed in. By the time he was done, the show was in full swing. First there was a pianist playing a faintly familiar piece of Schubert. Then a girl gave a short presentation about space exploration. Then a boy doing basketball tricks. And all too soon, it was time for the two of them.

They waited while the charms professor stretched the stage to rink-sized and created a layer of ice. Yuuri felt close to tears, shaky on his feet.

“Nervous?” whispered Victor.

Yuuri nodded.

Victor tilted his head, and gave a gentle smile. “Alakazam,” he said.  He tapped Yuuri on the head with his wand. “Not nervous!”

Yuuri cracked a shaky smile. “I don’t think that’s a real spell,” he said. Then, in English, he repeated, “Nervous.”

Victor stepped in close, cupping his hands around Yuuri’s face to block out the sight of the audience. “You and me, Yuuri,” he said. “Only you and me.”

They stood together like that for a long moment. Victor’s blue eyes and his long fingers were all that Yuuri could see. The combined sound of their breathing was louder than the buzz of voices in the background.

“Okay?” asked Victor.

“Okay.”

As they walked over to the edge of the ice, all Yuuri could focus on was Victor’s hand in his. And then Victor knelt gracefully at his feet and smiled up at him, and Yuuri couldn’t think of anything at all, until Victor took hold of the toe of his skate, coaxing him to lift it so he could take off the skate guard. One, then the other. Then Victor steadied himself on Yuuri’s arm as he took off his own skate guards, and they took their first smooth push out onto the ice.

From the moment Yuuri’s theme fluttered in his ears beneath Victor’s purposeful chords, everything fell away. He was a creature of the forest, on his home ground, powerful. And there was Victor, clueless and vulnerable, stumbling into a place where he didn’t belong. How dare this mortal presume to trespass on what was his?

Victor was just a toy to be played with. All that beauty and strength, Yuuri’s to control. Yuuri’s to dismiss.

After the interminable waiting, the routine went by in a flash. From start to finish, the story of his joyous dance, his dawning anger, his revenge, was under five minutes.

As he stood there panting in his final pose, listening to the roar of applause, he could feel tears of relief and release begin to trickle down his cheeks. He could barely see the audience. He could barely see Victor skating over to take his hand and guide him into a bow.

Without quite knowing how it happened, he found himself in an empty classroom, perched on a chair, with Victor kneeling in front of him, unlacing his skates for him.

“Why are you crying?” Victor asked, as his fingers worked at the laces. “Don’t cry! You did so well.”

Yuuri’s brain was slow to parse the English. “I’m s-sorry,” he managed.

“Maybe you’re tired.”

“Yes.”

“You worked hard.”

“Yes,” repeated Yuuri, blankly. Involuntarily, he reached out to brush the fall of ash-blond hair out of Victor’s eyes.

Victor tilted his head quizzically. His eyes were so very blue.

In that moment, Yuuri discovered two important things. Firstly, he was probably gay. Secondly, he was definitely head-over-heels for Victor Nikiforov.

Dazed by the realisation, and exhaustion and too much emotion, he trailed in Victor’s wake back to the corridor of crystals. Silently, trying to smile, he allowed himself to be hugged. With a fond goodbye and a last word of praise from Victor, they parted.

It wasn’t until hours later that Yuuri realised it really was goodbye. It was the last week of the magic school year, and Victor wouldn’t be going back.

 

***

 

The world seemed empty without the routine, without Victor’s practice sessions. There was too much time to think. Yuuri found it hard to concentrate. The melody of _Enchantment_ had consumed him so completely for the past two months that he didn’t know what to do with all the silence in his head. Distracted and distant, he didn’t notice his coach’s frustrations until it was too late. Some three weeks after the show, he turned up to his skating lesson to find Hiro-sensei waiting for him looking grave.

“We need to talk,” he said.

They didn’t skate. Hiro-sensei took him to a nearby café and bought him a cup of tea. Yuuri took a sip, shifting uneasily in his seat.

“What did you want to talk to me about, Sensei?” he asked, when he couldn’t bear to wait any longer.

Hiro-sensei sighed, looking almost unwilling to speak.  “I’ve been doing some thinking, Yuuri,” he said. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about this for several months.”

“About what?”

“How do you think this year has gone for you?”

Yuuri bit his lip. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“That’s not an answer.”

“I’ll work my hardest next season.”

Hiro-sensei shook his head. “I think it would be better for you to have a different coach next season.”

Yuuri’s froze. “What?” he asked, disbelieving.

“It’s not working out. I don’t want a student I can’t motivate, and your potential deserves better than a coach who isn’t helping you progress.”

“But you _are!_ ” said Yuuri, hearing his voice rise in panic. “You’re helping me.”

“How’s your triple toe loop, Yuuri?”

Yuuri’s lip began to tremble. “Please, Sensei, I’ll do better. I’ll practise nothing but jumps.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve given you every chance I could, but in the end I had to come to a decision.”

“But what am I going to do?” asked Yuuri, wrapping his arms around himself to stop himself from shivering. “There isn’t anyone else to coach me.”

“Not here.” Hiro-sensei sighed again. “I couldn’t discuss this with you until I’d spoken to your parents, but I think the best thing is for you to move away. I have a friend at Chukyo. If you manage to impress at the camp this summer, he says he’ll make sure one of the coaches takes you on. You should be able to change schools in September.” He reached across the table and squeezed Yuuri’s shoulder. “You will impress them. You’re an excellent skater, Yuuri. That’s why I don’t want you to be held back by staying here in Hasetsu.”

“I don’t want to live in Tokyo!”

“Well, that’s a decision you’re going to have to make. If you’re really serious about skating, I think Tokyo is where you should be.”

“I _promise_ I’ll practise my jumps,” said Yuuri hopelessly. He didn’t know how to explain the past few weeks. Surely if he could just say that he’d been skating with Victor Nikiforov… but Hiro-sensei would never believe him.

“I’m sorry. I’ve made up my mind.”

 

***

 

Yuuri stumbled home, flung himself into his mother’s arms and burst into tears.

“Oh, Yuuri,” she said, holding him close. “Hiro-sensei talked to you, didn’t he?”

Yuuri nodded, his tears soaking into the shoulder of her blouse. “I m-messed up and now he won’t c-coach me and he wants me to go to the rink at Chukyo.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“I don’t want to go.”

She stroked his hair. “Hiro-sensei wants to do what’s best for your skating career. Your father and I just want what’s best for you. You don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to.”

“I _do_ have to. He won’t keep me on next year.”

“We can find you another local coach.”

“There isn’t anyone else I want. If it’s not Hiro-sensei it has to be someone from another club.”

“Yuuri, you need to think about this carefully. I have cousins in Tokyo. If you want to go, we’ll figure out a way to make it work. But are you sure skating is what you really want to do?”

“W-Why do you keep asking me that?” Yuuri said, on a sob.

“Well, dear, you haven’t seemed very happy this year.”

“This year has been _amazing_ ,” said Yuuri fiercely. At that moment, all the falls and failures and disappointments were far away. He could feel the fairy melody of _Enchantment_ beating in his veins. “I love skating.” He wiped his eyes and lifted his chin. “Mom, I’m going to Tokyo.”


	5. Moving on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always forget to say - thank you so much to everyone who's left kudos or comments on this story. Your feedback is a great motivator.
> 
> Sorry this chapter took so long. Turns out, spending 5 days at Disney World chasing after my brother's four small, hyperactive children is so exhausting that it's impossible to even THINK about fic.
> 
> There are various unbeta'd chunks of this chapter, so all errors are my own :)

 Yuuri’s new room in Tokyo couldn’t really be called a room – it was more of a cubbyhole off the lounge. His mother’s cousin Akane had three small children and a large husband crammed into the apartment already. There was barely room for Yuuri, and certainly none for Vicchan.

Yuuri was glad of the kids. They were always busy, running in and out of the few rooms, and always seeming to bounce onto his bed whenever he really started to mope. They kept him busy too – Akane was always delighted to have someone to watch them or take them out while she got the housework done.

Taking the kids out to play wasn’t anything like taking Vicchan out for a run on the beach, but it was the closest he was going to get for a while.

 

***

 

The Ice Arena at Chukyo University was white and stark and somehow very cold. Although the other skaters were friendly enough, most of them were of a significantly higher level than Yuuri. He tried not to disturb them, and tried not to take up too much of his coach’s time.

Riku-sensei was older and sterner than Hiro-sensei. He was relentlessly focused on technique, and tore into Yuuri for bad habits he didn’t know existed. He was fond of off-ice training too. Yuuri found himself skating less than he was used to, and spending more time working on strength and posture and muscle control. He missed the skating, and desperately missed his late night hours of solo skating at Ice Castle. Sometimes his fingers itched for a wand of his own. He could cast _alohamora_ , now, and _lux_. He could have crept into the darkened rink in the sparse handful of empty hours and had it all to himself.

In his gigantic new school, it was easy to be invisible. So long as he did the work, the teachers didn’t pay him any attention. The other students didn’t either, if he kept out of the way. When he wasn’t doing schoolwork, training, or helping with the children, he focused on English. He wouldn’t see Victor at magic school again, but they _would_ meet, and when they did, he was determined they would be able to talk properly.

It helped. At lunch, if he had his headphones in and his English language MP3s playing, he didn’t feel quite so conspicuously alone. In the evenings, doing his stretches and watching pirated episodes of _Friends_ without subtitles, he felt just a little closer to Victor.

 

***

 

Victor’s first assignment for the GP series was Skate America. Yuuri was in school during the short programme, but luckily some of the other skaters were meeting up to watch a recording of the event in the evening. Because Miyu, the host, was polite, she asked him along. Because he was desperate, he said yes.

He couldn’t help checking the scores online ahead of time. It was impossible to go through the whole day knowing that Victor had already skated, but not knowing what had happened. When he turned up at the apartment a few stops from Akane’s place, he was comfortable in the knowledge that Victor had ended the day in first place.

There were a dozen other skaters crammed into the room – familiar faces from the rink and from competitions. Finding a spot off to one side, Yuuri settled down quietly while everyone else got drinks and snacks.

Someone started the video. One by one, the skaters took their turn. Everyone had something to say about each competitor, from technique to questionable costume choices. Yuuri liked listening to the laughing chatter of people who shared his enthusiasm for skating.

“Quiet!” called Miyu, cutting through the chatter. “Nikiforov’s up. I heard it was intense.”

Yuuri sat up, all alert. Everyone else fell silent, and the announcer’s voice was suddenly clearly audible.

_…last year’s Grand Prix champion, Victor Nikiforov of Russia. His theme for this season is ‘purpose’. He has planned two quads – a toe loop and a salchow. No sign of the quadruple flip in his roster this year; a failed attempt cost him the gold medal at the World Championships…_

“Damn,” said Saeko, flicking her hair back irritably. “I wanted to see that.”

“Shush!”

The camera swooped in on Victor giving Yakov a quick hug at the rinkside. He was wearing a simple costume in black and silver. With his pale hair and paler skin, he looked almost entirely monochrome under the harsh lights. A touch of pink to his lips and the blue of his eyes were the only things that made him seem alive.

When the music started, it was more percussion than anything else. Victor’s routine was technically proficient, but choppy, rough, almost violent. It could just about be considered purposeful, the way a fight is purposeful, but Yuuri thought that a better theme would have been _‘anger’_. It certainly wasn’t missing an emotional connection.

When it finished, even the commentators sounded a little dazed. Miyu voiced what they were all thinking.

“Wow.”

“Intense is right,” someone else murmured.

“I feel like I just got punched in the face.”

Yuuri barely noticed the next skater starting. He didn’t really notice anything, until someone poked him in the shoulder.

“Hey! Katsuki!”

“What?” he said, jerking around. “Uh, sorry?”

It was Hisato, the bronze medallist in last year’s nationals.

“I said, do you want a soda?”

“He was catatonic,” said Miyu, with a giggle. “I think Nikiforov broke his brain. Are you a fan, Yuuri?”

“Of course he’s a fan,” said Saeko. “He’s got Nikiforov on his phone screen!”

Yuuri yelped. It was true, but he didn’t think anyone had noticed. These people only knew his name because he was the only new kid at the club.

“Don’t laugh,” said Hisato. “Everyone here’s a fan. Miyu, I’ve seen the photos on _your_ phone.”

“Yes,” said Yuuri, awkward but relieved. “I’m a fan. Just like everyone.”

He wished it was like that. He wished he was just impressed at Victor’s skating. But it wasn’t like that.

The publicity photo on his phone screen wasn’t the important one. There was another photo, under the bed in his room back in Hasetsu for safekeeping. The snap had been taken on his mother’s ancient polaroid camera. In grainy colour, Victor Nikiforov sat dressed in Yuuri’s father’s baggy pyjamas, with Vicchan nestled in the crook of his arm. Beside him, a thirteen-year-old Yuuri smiled shyly out of the shot.

Victor wasn’t just an amazing skater. He was a real person, and Yuuri cared about him and worried about him and missed him. Maybe Victor had forgotten he even existed by now, but that didn’t change how he felt.

 

***

 

Later, he was deeply glad he was on his own to watch the free skate. There was no way he’d have been able to brush off his reaction.

Victor didn’t look stark and cold this time. Standing in the middle of the rink, dressed in a military-style red and grey costume, he looked exactly as he had when Yuuri had first seen him smile years ago: bright, carefree and happy.

_Now Victor Nikiforov takes to the ice for the public debut of his free skate programme. The music, composed especially for the routine, is titled ‘Enchantment’._

Yuuri’s breath caught. Disbelieving, he watched Victor take up his pose, head raised, alert, purposeful. There was silence. Then three strong, familiar chords sounded, with the slight, haunting echo that ice rink music always held.

It wasn’t quite the routine Yuuri knew. The jumps were different, fine-tuned to the difficulty of a Grand Prix series. The swells of the music where the lifts should have been were matched with a pair of quads. But the bones of it were the same, the step sequences, the body position, and above all the story. Yuuri’s eyes were always drawn to the spot where the other figure should be, the fairy creature dancing ahead of Victor, enticing him along.

The crowd was entranced. Distantly, Yuuri heard the commentators use words like _artistry_ and _dazzling_ and _excellence_. Yuuri had to blink back the tears that were threatening to obscure his vision. He didn’t want to miss a second of it.

When it was over, when Victor took his bow, Yuuri’s hand tingled. It was almost as though he were there on the ice himself, with Victor’s hand in his.

To nobody’s surprise, when the final scores were in, Victor took an easy gold.

That night, Yuuri lay in his cubby under the poster of Victor taped to the sloping wall, and told himself that it didn’t hurt. Back in March, he had wondered where Victor had found the time to choreograph a whole routine for a silly school show. It had seemed ridiculous at the time. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to find out that he hadn’t done it at all. He’d just tacked a simple routine for Yuuri onto the basics of his upcoming free skate programme.

 

***

 

November brought Yuuri’s own major competition of the season. He’d qualified for the Japanese Junior Championships by the skin of his teeth, thanks to an unusually high programme component score that made up for his dismal technical. In the weeks between regionals and nationals, Riku-sensei talked constantly about mentality, the way Hiro-sensei had talked about nerves. Success was all about mental strength, he said.

“I’m mentally weak,” Yuuri told his mother over the laggy skype connection. “That’s why I fail.”

“Sweetie, you’re not weak,” said his mother, predictably.

Yuuri smiled and asked to talk to Vicchan.

 

***

 

He came tenth. Looking at the list of scores, he tried to console himself that at least his name came in the top half. It wasn’t very comforting.

“Your program component scores were the highest of the competition,” Riku-sensei told him, at practise two days later. “If you’d landed your jumps the way I know you can, you’d have taken gold.”

Yuuri hung his head. “I’m sorry, sensei.”

“That was supposed to be encouraging, Yuuri.” Riku-sensei sighed, wiping a hand over his face. “Sometimes I wonder what I’m going to do with you.”

 

***

 

Yuuri watched Victor’s performance in the Cup of China almost unwillingly, heart aching at each programme in different ways. Victor took gold again, putting him at the head of the field going into the final.

As the final began, it was almost a given that he’d win gold. Sitting though the furious short programme for the third time, Yuuri felt like he couldn’t wait for this season to be over.

Then it was time for the free skate. Yuuri watched it miserably, all too aware of the missing figure. He could almost see himself, darting towards Victor and away, then back, ready to launch into the lift that would never happen. Instead, Victor launched into the quad toe loop…

And suddenly he was sprawling on the ice.

Yuuri gaped at the TV. That hadn’t been a toe loop. It was a quad flip, and Victor had messed it up. _Again_.

Victor came to his feet instantly and continued with the routine. Everything else was flawless. The artistry was beautiful. He came off the ice beaming and bowing to his fans.

The final score was still outstanding, but the deduction from the fall closed the gap between Victor and his closest rival. As the competitors stood on the podium, Victor looked perfectly happy with his silver medal. At the side of the rink, Yakov looked thunderous.

 

***

 

“My sister went nuts when I told her Victor Nikiforov used to go here,” Sam told Yuuri, as they waited in the corridor before class. “She asked why I didn’t tell her before. Like I’d have recognised him. Or cared.”

“Of course. He’s not a footballer,” said Yuuri. He had to organise the sentences carefully in his head before he said them, but he was fairly confident with the simple grammar.

“She said to get your autograph, because I couldn’t get his.”

“Your sister… wants my autograph?”

“Yeah. In case you get famous. You can have mine in exchange.”

“Um…” said Yuuri, feeling slightly baffled. He should probably say yes, however strange it seemed. Then, remembering a better word, he hazarded, “Deal.”

It was the right thing to say. “Great,” said Sam, and shoved his notebook in Yuuri’s face.

Yuuri got out a pen and wrote out _Yuuri Katsuki_ in Kanji and then in English letters. Then he took his own notebook and passed it to Sam in exchange. Sam handed it back inscribed with _Sam Cohen_ and a doodle of a soccer ball.

“That could be worth a lot one day,” said Sam, with satisfaction.

“Was your game yesterday good?”

“We beat them three-nil,” said Sam, and launched into a description of the football match that Yuuri listened to carefully until they classroom door opened.

He’d taken to using the spare minutes before magic lessons to practise his English speaking and comprehension. There were two native speakers in his class, and another three who spoke it solidly as a second language. It was easier to talk to them, he found, if it was for an actual reason, rather than as any kind of attempt to be friends.

That particular day they were at Mahoutokoro, in Yuuri’s own country – not that it mattered. To Yuuri, the notices and textbooks in every one of the different magical classrooms were in Japanese, as was every word the students and teacher said. Whichever country they were in, it was the same group of students, the same textbooks, the same borrowed wands and the same rules.

Somehow, in his fourth year, Yuuri had actually come to look forward to his magic lessons. He still found magical ethics troubling and confusing; despite all he’d learned about the Statute of Secrecy, he could never quite be happy that the wizarding world’s refusal to help with muggle problems. But at least the magical schools were more familiar than his Tokyo school. He knew his classmates, and his teachers, and what was expected of him. He was even improving. Turning a beetle into a matchbox wasn’t a challenge anymore. He could even imagine being able to create an ice rink of his own one day, the way Victor had. It was an intriguing thought. He would be able to skate wherever he wanted, even in his own home.

Maybe Victor did that. Maybe late at night, when he couldn’t sleep, he stretched his bedroom to rink-size and skated to his heart’s content.

 

***

 

After that particular magical ethics lesson, Yuuri had a conversation with Professor McGonagall that he’d rather have avoided.

She cornered him as he was packing up his notebooks and fixed him with her sharp eyes. “You were quite the hit at the end of term show last year,” she said. She was actually smiling, which Yuuri had only seen reserved for her most talented students (and that had never been him). “I hope we’ll be seeing you skate again this year.”

Yuuri shook his head frantically. “No! Uh, no. I’m sorry! Not- I can’t. Victor…” he finished lamely.

“Well.” She pursed her lips at him, that rare smile fading. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Katsuki, but I won’t press you. However, I am going to ask one thing of you, and I expect you to help, for the good of the school.”

Yuuri’s heart sank. From her expression, he doubted he’d be able to get out of whatever it was. “Yes professor?” he said.

“Often when the lake freezes over, our students go skating. Since your performance, several of them have expressed an interest in learning better technique. I would like you to teach them.”

“Teach?” gasped Yuuri, utterly dismayed. “ _Me?_ ”

“Precisely. Will Saturday at eleven be convenient for you?”

He desperately wanted to say no. Sadly, he was quite sure she’d see straight through the lie. On Saturday he had practise in the early morning and weights in the afternoon, but absolutely nothing else.

Taking a calming breath and accepting the inevitable, he said, “Yes, professor.”

 

***

 

By eleven thirty on Saturday, he was standing close to where the frozen earth met the dark ice of the lake, watching a small group of students straggle their way towards him, supervised by a teacher he didn’t know. All of them were muffled up in thick black coats – no, _cloaks –_ and bright scarves. Despite the padding, he could tell, with some relief, that they were almost all younger than him.

They were still wizarding kids though. Real wizards and witches who went to magic school full time and lived in the strange, secret world he learned about in Wizarding Studies. Kids who called normal people muggles. Kids who needed special lessons and demonstrations and an end of year show to try to convince them that muggles weren’t _less,_ some lesser race. They probably all thought that Yuuri was completely crazy for choosing the muggle world. Maybe they hadn’t even come to skate – maybe they’d come to stare.

He was in the midst of these encouraging thoughts when the teacher reached him. She was an elderly woman with grey hair that stuck out in spikes even sharper than Yuuri’s hair managed at its wildest.

“Good morning, Mr Katsuki,” she said. Her voice was bracing and full of energy.

Yuuri had been raised with good manners, so despite his nervousness he managed a polite greeting. “Good morning, Madam Hooch. It’s nice to meet you,” he said in his best English.

“Jolly good, jolly good,” she said, which he assumed meant something positive. “They’re all ready. Say the word and I’ll transfigure their shoes into skates.”

Well. Straight down to business then. It was better than doing too much talking. “Okay,” he said, giving a tentative nod. “Now. I need to watch. Know how good are they.” No, that wasn’t right. “They are,” he amended. "And - no magic to help."

She clapped her hands sharply at the group, who thankfully stopped whispering at each other and came forward one by one to be have their shoes bespelled and introduce themselves to Yuuri by complicated English names that his anxious brain instantly forgot. Soon they were all tottering about on the ice for his inspection. Without magic to balance them, they were terrible. In the first minute three had fallen over and were struggling to get up. The other four weren’t a great deal better; while they could stay upright, they had no idea how to push against the ice, and they were wobbling around as though they were trying to walk in their skates.

Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief, feeling much more at ease. Like every other skater in the world, he could practically recite a beginners’ lesson from memory. Every few days he’d catch part of one while he was lacing up or warming down at the rinkside. Often when he was practising alone there would be a lesson going on in a cordoned-off section of the rink. Even in English, he figured he’d be able to manage the basics.

The students were keen, too. They listened attentively to his slightly garbled explanations and watched with interested eyes as he demonstrated.

First he showed them how to make a V out of their feet so they could at least stand still without falling over. Then, since they were almost certainly going to fall over again before the session was over, he showed them how to push up from kneeling to standing. He taught them the penguin shuffle to go forwards, taking turns to hold the least confident of them by the hands, and taught them snowplough to stop. Just as he’d started the more confident of them on lemons, Madam Hooch called an end to the session.

Huh, thought Yuuri. He’d made it through. Nobody had laughed at him or looked bored, the worst of the injuries were just bruised knees and backsides, and everyone looked happy to have learned something. Really, despite their magic, they didn’t seem all that different from any other group of beginners.

 

***

 

His parents’ birthday present to him that year was plane tickets home for part of the winter break. He was greeted at the airport by an ecstatically barking Vicchan and whisked home for a pork cutlet feast. The week was a happy blur, spent with his dog, his family, Minako, Yuko, and all the other people he cared about. He slept in his own room with his own things around him, and he woke every morning to familiar noises and a familiar view.

The night before his flight back to Tokyo, he stayed late at Ice Castle, letting his body move as it chose while he wrestled with his emotions. To skate, he had to breathe properly; if he was breathing properly he couldn’t cry.

If only it were possible to skate for ever.

After one final effort, pushing himself into yet another triple toe loop, he spun to a stop in the centre of the ice. Only then did he realise that he wasn’t alone. A figure was standing at the edge of the rink, one hand propped on the barrier.

“Hiro-sensei!” gasped Yuuri, thoroughly out of breath.

“Good work, Yuuri,” Hiro-sensei said, with a brief nod of approval. “It was the right choice.”

He turned away. Before Yuuri could find his skate guards, he was gone.

 

***

 

The new year began. In Scotland the skies were grey and the lake ice was still solid, but in Tokyo the weeks went past chilly but bright. Even between the skyscrapers, the sun found its way down to the ground. The city itself seemed more alive, keen for the weather to turn mild and the cherry blossoms to open. Yuuri threw himself into skating with a feeling of unexpected enthusiasm. He missed home, he missed Vicchan and his parents, but now and then, when his triple toe loop turned out flawless, and he inched ever closer towards mastery of the triple Axel, he could forgive Hiro-sensei for sending him away.

One evening in late February, quite out of the blue, he received a phonecall.

“Hello, Yuuri!” the thoroughly unexpected voice declared in its lightly accented English. “This is Victor Nikiforov.”

Yuuri opened and closed his mouth for a moment. “V-Victor?”

“I called the hot spring and your mother gave me this number. You didn’t tell me you moved to Tokyo!” said Victor,

“I have a new coach,” Yuuri managed. It wasn’t what he wanted to say. He wanted to ask why on earth Victor was calling him, and to ask him how he was, and to congratulate him on his medals, and to… well, to not mention _Enchantment_ ever again. In the face of Victor’s light, bright friendliness, he couldn’t even try.

“Good! Your last coach was holding you back. Yuuri, it’s Worlds next month. You have to come!”

Yuuri tried replaying that last sentence in his head a few times. It still didn’t make any sense.

“What?”

“The World Championships. Will you come?”

“I… don’t go to Worlds,” said Yuuri.

“Why not?”

“It is in Sweden,”

“I know, silly! I’ll send you the plane ticket.”

“What?” said Yuuri again, completely baffled.

“And I’ll book you into the hotel. Your coach will give you the time off, right?” Victor sounded briefly uncertain, before answering his own question. “Of course he will – it’s Worlds!”

“Victor, I don’t understand.”

“I’m going to land that flip this time. You want to be there to see it, don’t you?”

“Yes!” said Yuuri instantly.

“Amazing! I’ll see you soon, Yuuri!” said Victor, and hung up.

Yuuri sat down on his bed and pressed a hand to his forehead. He tried to figure out what had just happened, not at all convinced that he’d understood the English properly. Surely Victor hadn’t _actually_ invited him to Worlds and promised to send him a plane ticket. That would be ridiculous.

And yet, it was Victor. When a harried-sounding travel agent called him the next day about his trip to Sweden, he wasn’t really surprised.


	6. Enchantment revisited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of thanks! As ever, Tawabids for the beta and Hils for the cheerleading. Also Brixtonsun for help with the Russian. And y'all who commented on the last chapter, thank you, it was super encouraging.
> 
> There's also French dialogue in this chapter. I speak no French... please correct me if I'm wrong :) [ETA: thank you, Niyalune and YuuKirkland]

Three weeks after Victor’s call, Yuuri made his way through Swedish immigration, truly grateful for the work he’d been doing on his English. Apparently Swedish people spoke it. If they hadn’t, he wasn’t sure what he would have done. Collecting his baggage and walking through customs, he told himself there was nothing to worry about. He had the name of the hotel. He had Kronor for a cab. People spoke English, and so did he – sort of. Everything was going to be fine.

He was terrified.

Once through the doors to the arrivals area, he looked around hopefully for a taxi sign – T-A-X-I, in both English and Swedish. Then, off to one side, he caught sight of a slim figure with a familiar sweep of ash-blond hair.

Victor spotted him at the same time. “Yuuri!” he called, waving, and made his way along the rope to the entrance.

Without even knowing what he was doing, Yuuri found himself stumbling into a run, feeling so shaky with relief that he didn’t have time to be awkward. He wrapped his arms around Victor’s middle and let himself be squeezed in return. He’d never been so glad to see anyone in his life.

“Hello, Yuuri,” Victor said brightly into his ear. “It’s good to see you! Did you have a good flight?”

“Yes,” said Yuuri, inaccurately. He had been too anxious to sleep. He was exhausted, and confused by the watery evening sunshine outside when his body clock was telling him it was the middle of the night.

“Good!” said Victor, releasing him. “Let’s go, Yakov will be looking for me. Chris, allez.”

Now free to look around, Yuuri realised that there was a boy standing at Victor’s shoulder. He was tall and fair, and he was giving Yuuri a measuring look. Apparently finished with his assessment, he cocked an eyebrow in Victor’s direction.

“Tu es sérieux, Victor?” he said. “Tu veux vraiment patiner avec lui? C'est un enfant.”

“Il a du talent. Ne sois pas jaloux, petit.”

Yuuri looked between them, heart sinking. Great. Another language he didn’t know.

“Yuuri, meet Chris. He’s another skater,” said Victor, as though Yuuri might perhaps not have recognised Christophe Giacometti. “You’ll steal silver from him in a year or two.”

“Wh-what? No. Um… I mean. Hello,” Yuuri stammered. _Oh god_. He wondered if he would be less tongue-tied and awkward in Japanese. Probably not.

“Hello, baby Yuuri,” said Chris. He glanced at Victor. “Il rougit. Que c'est mignon.”

“N'est-ce pas?”

Victor slung an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and led him away towards the airport exit.

 

***

 

When Victor had said Yakov would be looking for him, he had understated the matter. Yakov was in the hotel lobby, on the phone, and Yuuri definitely heard him say Victor’s name a couple of times as they approached. When Victor tapped him on the shoulder he jumped a foot, rounded on Victor, and burst into a stream of impassioned Russian that mixed fury and relief. Yuuri felt sorry for him. He would have felt sorry for anyone who had the challenge of keeping Victor in line.

Finally ceasing his tirade and catching sight of Yuuri, Yakov squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and gave a long sigh. Opening them, he fixed Victor with a look of deep weariness. “Vitya. Zachem?”

“Yakov, you remember Yuuri,” said Victor in English.

“Good afternoon, sir,” said Yuuri. He was doing his best to be polite, but both Chris and Victor started laughing. He felt his cheeks heating.

“Hello Yuuri,” said Yakov tightly, and slipped back into Russian. Victor answered cheerfully. The conversation ended with Yakov holding one hand over his eyes and waving them weakly towards the elevators.

 

***

 

Yuuri woke in the darkness of very early morning, still exhausted but too edgy to attempt going back to sleep. He felt like he wouldn’t be able to breathe quite right until the gold medal was hanging around Victor’s neck. With nothing particular to do, he found himself online, obsessively watching Victor’s failed quad flips over and over, as though he could pick out some flaw and give a piece of advice that would ensure Victor’s success. It was a ridiculous hope. Even if he’d known how to do a quad flip, there was no way he’d see anything that Victor and Yakov had missed. By the time it was actually morning, Victor’s falls were replaying on the insides of his eyelids every time he closed his eyes.

He started the day feeling nail-bitingly tense. Victor, on the other hand, seemed entirely incapable of getting nervous. After some morning practise at the rink and a nutritious lunch, he yawned, stretched, and declared he was going up to his room for a nap. He emerged looking obnoxiously refreshed. Yuuri’s stomach was tying itself in knots, and there was still a whole day to go until the free skate.

First came the short programmes. Even Yuuri wasn’t particularly worried about those. Victor’s powerful routine had been flawlessly performed and consistently high-scoring throughout the season, and was again. It held no surprises, except perhaps for Victor’s demeanour. Yuuri had only seen it on the TV screen before, and had never seen the aftermath. As Victor sat in the kiss-and-cry after his performance, it seemed as though the anger he had expressed on the ice was still a part of him. He looked very pale in his black-and-silver costume, and he didn’t smile, even when the personal best score was read out. The hug Yakov bestowed on him looked more comforting than celebratory.

At the end of the short programme segment of the competition, Victor was in first place by a five-point margin. He was silent on the way back to the hotel, and once they arrived he disappeared up to his room without a word.

Yuuri was left staring at Yakov, desperately wanting to retreat himself but not knowing how to without being rude. He wasn’t sure whether to be glad or not when Chris’s hand tapped him on the shoulder from behind.

“Come with me, baby Yuuri. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Uh-“ said Yuuri. Usually he would have been shyly pleased to be noticed by a world championship figure skater, but he found that he didn’t particularly want to spend quality time with Victor’s scornful friend. Besides, Yakov seemed to have taken the interruption as his own excuse to escape, which meant Yuuri could get back to his own room.  “Oh. No. No thank you. I don’t drink alcohol.”

Chris gave a laugh with a sharp edge of meanness to it. “I guessed that. I meant a soda.”

“I need to work out!” Yuuri blurted. “Maybe later.”

“Then I’ll come with you to the gym. Go get changed. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”

“But, the competition. You’re tired,” Yuuri said, not very hopefully.

“No, I’m fine.”

Yuuri stared at him helplessly for a moment, before giving up. “Okay!”

Even though he was only spending a few days in Sweden, he’d brought his workout gear with him. In running shoes and yoga pants, he made his way through the hotel to the fitness centre. Chris was leaning against a wall outside, looking sardonic.

“Hello,” Yuuri ventured.

“You took your time.”

“Sorry.”

The door to the fitness centre opened into a wide space filled with exercise machines. An elderly couple on exercise bikes were watching Swedish television with the volume up way too loud.

“Ugh,” said Chris, and led Yuuri through a door with a sign reading _Pool and Studios_.

The corridor they came out into had doors leading off on either side, and a double door at the end that was giving off a slight but definite smell of chlorine. The faint sound of children’s squeals was audible through it.

Chris pushed open the first door on the left. It led into a dance studio with stacks of yoga mats and blocks to one side, and a few exercise balls in the corner.

“I suppose they do classes,” said Chris. “Let’s see what else there is.”

They moved onto the next door. Chris pushed it open, and actually laughed. It made him look soft and friendly in a way Yuuri hadn’t realised he could be. Yuuri peered around him into the room. It was surprisingly large. Even more surprising, it contained two rows of floor-to-ceiling metal poles.

Chris was inside in an instant, leaving Yuuri holding the door feeling uncertain.

“I can’t believe they have a pole dancing studio. I’ve always wanted to try this!” He grabbed one of the poles and climbed up it easily, hand over hand. “Hmm. And then you kind of, lean back…?” He tried. He slipped. He flailed, jerking his body, and just managed to grab onto the pole again. “Merde! C'est difficile.”

Yuuri tried to hide a giggle behind his hand. He let go of the door and stepped into the room. “Um. Do you want I show you?”

“What?” said Chris. He slid down the pole, staring at Yuuri. “You can pole dance? _You_ can pole dance?”

“Yes. My ballet teacher taught me. For…” he couldn’t think of the word. “Strong. Here.” He tapped his midsection.

 A grin of pure amusement spread over Chris’s face. “I need to see this.”

Yuuri hesitated, suddenly wishing he hadn’t volunteered. “Um. Maybe not.”

“Are you shy, baby Yuuri?”

The honest answer to that was absolutely yes, but Yuuri found himself strangely unwilling to admit it.

“I’m not shy.”

“Then go ahead. You should be proud of your skills.”

Still sure he was going to regret this, Yuuri walked over to another of the poles and bent to slip off his shoes and socks and roll up the legs of his yoga pants until they were high on his thighs. Not perfect, but it would do. He wasn’t warmed up, but it didn’t matter for the simpler moves. He swung himself up onto the pole, climbed it, and leaned back, the way Chris had tried to, while he thought through his repertoire. Carefully not looking at Chris, he cycled through a few positions. Lean back, inversion, superman, butterfly…

Chris was laughing.

Finally daring to look at him, Yuuri found that Chris had one hand over his eyes and was leaning against his pole, shaking with laughter.

“That is so very, very wrong,” he said.

“It’s not wrong!” said Yuuri, offended, sliding down and stepping off the pole. “It’s the right way.”

Chris snorted, hiding his face. “I meant, you’re a child.”

“I’m fifteen,” said Yuuri, not sure what that had to do with anything. “Two years younger than you.”

“They’re a very important two years.” Chris raised his head. His eyes were dancing as he looked at Yuuri. “Ethically and legally.”

 _Legally?_ thought Yuuri, momentarily baffled. Then it clicked, and he was plunged into mortification. He knew he must be scarlet-faced. It only seemed to make Chris laugh harder.

“Tu es trop mignon,” he choked through his giggles. “Tu seras un vrai tombeur plus tard.”

“Speak English.”

“Non, chéri, tu n'es pas prêt à entendre ça.”

“You’re stupid and I’m leaving,” Yuuri snapped, in Japanese. He didn’t quite have the guts to say it in English, but he turned away with as much haughtiness as he could manage, hoping it would get his point across.

“Au revoir, beau mec,” Chris called after him.

 

***

 

Victor re-emerged in time to drag Yuuri out to dinner with him and Chris, after yet another Russian lecture from Yakov.

“Vedi sebya khorosho, ti za nego otvechaesh',” Yakov had said, glaring at Victor and stabbing a meaningful finger towards Yuuri.

“Perestan' volnovat'sya!”

They ate meatballs and strange fishy things and cakes with marzipan. By that time Yuuri was feeling too exhausted with jetlag to really taste anything, but he was awake enough to realise that Chris spent the whole meal laughing at him on the inside.

 

***

 

The next morning, the competitors once again made use of their allotted time on the ice to go over their moves. Yuuri watched Victor tensely, waiting to see whether he could at least land the flip in practice. But the time ticked away, and Victor didn’t try it.

Eventually Yuuri couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer and edged cautiously over to Yakov.

“He doesn’t practise quadruple flip?”

“He’s not doing a quadruple flip.”

Yuuri’s surprise must have shown on his face. Yakov stared at him for a moment, face paling, then turned back to the rink and bawled, “VITYA!”

Victor swept up to the barrier in a spray of ice, hockey-style. “Yakov?”

“The child says you’re doing the quad flip.”

“I didn’t say it,” said Yuuri hurriedly.

Victor tilted his head and blinked innocently. “Of course I’m doing the quad flip,” he said.

Yakov moaned aloud. Pathetic and pleading, he slipped into Russian. “Pozhaluysta, Vitya, ne bud' egoistom. Pozhaley menya. Ya star.”

Victor’s smile was unabated. “Vse poluchitsya v etot raz.”

“Ty uzhasnyy uchenik!”

“Goodbye, Yakov!” said Victor, and pushed off backwards, waving at Yuuri as he went.

Yakov turned grimly back to Yuuri. “I am going to kill that boy,” he snarled.  “And _you_ only encourage him.”

“M-me?”

“ _Enchantment_ ,” Yakov said disgustedly, and stomped off.

 

***

 

Because Victor was in first place after the short programme, he was skating last in the free skate. Yuuri sat through the other performances almost without seeing them. He knew most of the routines already from watching the Four Continents and Europeans. He registered faintly that Chris put in a respectable effort, considering he was the youngest competitor on the ice. Really, he spent the entirety of the show waiting for Victor’s turn. When the voice over the loudspeaker finally announced Victor Nikiforov of Russia, his lungs felt so tight it actually hurt. He took deep breaths, the way his mother always made him do when he was scared.

Victor glided out smoothly to the centre of the rink, arms raised dramatically to acknowledge the crowd. Then he snapped into his simple first pose, and silence spread around the arena before the first chords sounded.

This time, Yuuri’s eyes weren’t drawn to the spot on the ice where he should be. All his attention was on Victor, fixated on each stroke of his blades, terrified to see a wobble or an error. There was none. Victor was perfection and confidence through the early step sequences and jumps. Then the music changed. Yuuri held his breath, counting down the beats until the quad flip. Four… three… two… one…

 _Now_.

Victor didn’t hang in the air the way he did with his other quads. It was a flash of movement like a leaping fish, almost jerky, impossibly fast. He landed with his head up and his knee bending low. It wasn’t precisely a beautiful jump, but it was perfectly clean.

Around Yuuri, the crowd roared.

Victor skated on through the familiar routine with an intensity that even he didn’t usually possess, seeming drawn along by the emotions of the music: fascination, yearning, helplessness, terror, despair. When he finally folded to the ice, there was a moment of pure stillness before the deafening applause began.

As Victor skated off, he waved right at Yuuri.

Yuuri found himself wiping away tears as the tension faded from his shoulders. After that performance, there was absolutely no doubt that Victor would win. In the kiss and cry, Victor was glowing, while Yakov seemed to fluctuate between pleased and fuming with each passing second.

The score flashed up on the board. _204.75_.

“That’s a world record,” said Yuuri, out loud to nobody.

Victor rose to his feet and gave a graceful bow. He looked insufferably smug.

 

***

 

It was the post-competition banquet of the World Championships. Yuuri found himself sitting as a guest on Victor Nikiforov’s table, dressed in his ordinary slacks, a too-large white shirt borrowed from who knew where, and one of Victor’s ties. He hadn’t expected to be invited at all, so he hadn’t brought any smart clothes with him. It was probably okay that he looked a mess, because nobody was paying the slightest attention to him. Conversely, everyone in the room wanted to talk to Victor and Yakov. A constant stream of people stopped at their table, showering congratulations with what seemed to be varying levels of sincerity. Yuuri concentrated on eating tidily and following along with the English conversation as best he could.

Once the plates were cleared away, it was time to mingle. Yuuri trailed over to where Victor was surrounded by a group of fans and hovered on the edge. After a few minutes Victor noticed him for the first time. Laughing, he excused himself from the group and pulled Yuuri into a clear spot.

“Quad flip!” he said, as though he couldn’t say the words often enough.

“And World Champion,” Yuuri said, smiling back at him.

“Do you want to see the medal?” said Victor. He lifted the wide, striped ribbon from around his neck and dangled the golden disc teasingly in front of Yuuri. “You can wear it if you like.”

“No! It’s bad luck.”

“Just touch it, then. Hold out your hand.”

After a moment’s uncertainty, Yuuri did. Victor lowered the medal, not letting go of the ribbon, just letting the weight of it rest on Yuuri’s palm. It was heavier than it looked.

After a moment, Yakov appeared to one side of them. He was holding out a phone to Victor. “Tvoya mama.”

Victor let go of the ribbon completely and grabbed for the phone.

“Mama! Vy smotreli eto po televizoru?”

Completely absorbed, he strode away to the door out of the ballroom. Yakov followed.

Yuuri was left holding a World Championship gold medal and not knowing what to do with himself. For a little while he wandered around the room, taking the chance to people-watch in a crowd of famous skaters, but soon he was bored as well as self-conscious, and the abject exhaustion of jetlag was setting in. He still had the medal in his hand. He looked around to see if Victor had come back to the ballroom so he could give it back. There was no sign of him. Trying to hide his yawns, Yuuri made his way over to the door Victor had left from and slipped out into the corridor.

For a moment, he thought the hallway was empty. Then he caught a flash of movement off to the side, tucked away behind a pillar. He stepped to where he could see better, mouth opening to call Victor’s name. The word never left his lips.

Chris was there too, crowding Victor into the sheltered space behind the pillar. For a moment, Yuuri thought he was angry. He might be jealous after only taking sixth, maybe even trying to hurt Victor. Then Chris spoke, and his voice wasn’t angry at all. It was low and deep, almost purring.

“Laisse-moi te féliciter pour ta victoire.”

He leaned in, and he wasn’t threatening Victor. No, he was _kissing_ him. They were kissing each other, soft and hungry, and Victor’s hands were moving over Chris’s jacket.

Yuuri stared. His feet felt frozen to the spot.

“C'est ça, petit,” sighed Victor, tilting his head back as Chris kissed along the edge of his jaw and on down the long pale line of his throat.  

“Je ne suis plus petit.”

“Je sais. Ah, _Christophe_.”

Finally Yuuri forced himself to turn and walk away quietly. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to get that image out of his mind. Victor, his head tilted back, eyes fluttering closed as Chris’s mouth moved on his neck.

Yuuri had often wondered what Victor would look like in exactly that position. Now he knew. It wasn’t until he was in bed, face pressed to the pillow, that he allowed himself to cry.

 

***

 

“Yuuri? Yuuri! Wake up, lazy.”

Yuuri blinked his eyes open, confused, the wisps of an unsettling dream drifting away from him. “Victor?”

Victor’s face hung over him, a pale blur in the dark. Yuuri sat up in a hurry, fumbling for his glasses. The sky outside the window was almost black, softened only by the faint glow of streetlight reflection off cloud.

“Yuuri, get up,” said Victor. There was a smile in his voice, and his hand was warm on Yuuri’s arm.

 “What time is it? What’s happening?” said Yuuri. He was too sleep-muddled to find the English words, but Victor answered him anyway.

“We’re going skating.”

 

***

 

“Where’s Chris?” Yuuri dared to ask, as they bundled out of the cab by the silent, deserted arena.

“In bed.”

Yuuri wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Somehow he knew that, earlier that night, Victor had been in that same bed. He could imagine Victor slipping out, leaving Chris sprawled in sleep, curls tumbled and lips reddened, with the marks of Victor’s mouth on his naked chest. But then, Victor _had_ got out of the bed. He wasn’t with Chris. He was with Yuuri.

At the main doors, Victor slid his wand out of his sleeve. Within minutes, the two of them were inside, gazing out over the ice.

“Warm up,” Victor ordered, and Yuuri obeyed. He didn’t ask questions until they were both ready. Then, in a whisper, he asked, “What do we skate?”

“Enchantment, of course. Do you remember?”

“Always,” Yuuri breathed.

They began, tracing the familiar steps, twirling apart and together. It felt so natural to Yuuri. He’d skated the routine time and again since the Hogwarts show, when the Chukyo rink was empty of anyone who might care. He even had his own copy of the music, fuzzed with background gasps from the crowd, recorded from a YouTube clip of Victor skating. It was the most played track on his iPod.

The lifts took a few tries for them to get right. The intensity of Victor’s hands on him was shocking, so much _more_ than he remembered. Then, slipping out of Victor’s grasp, caressing his face and accelerating backwards out of reach, he felt his body begging, _catch me_. _I don’t want to leave you._

Finally, the routine was as smooth as it had once been. Smoother, even. Yuuri had another year of growth and experience behind him. He could push just that little bit harder.

“The way you move, Yuuri…” Victor said, bright-eyed as they leaned against the barrier side by side. “I said you’ll steal silver from Chris one day? Well I was wrong. You’ll steal gold from me.”

“V-Victor,” Yuuri stammered, feeling his face flush.

“You’re perfect. Tomorrow, at the gala, we skate together.”

Yuuri stared up at him, dumbfounded. “ _What?_ ”

“I’m skating Enchantment for my exhibition piece. You’ll skate it with me. I want everyone to see you. Yuuri, say you will.”

“I - but - Victor, the people! No! On TV!”

“Say you will.”

“My coach!” Yuuri protested. “What will he think?”

“He’ll think you’re amazing. Just like I do.

“Victor-!”

Suddenly Victor’s arms were around him. His head was pressed into Victor’s shoulder. He was breathing Victor’s warmth, surrounded by the smell of soap and sweat.

“Yuuri, say you will.”

“Yes,” Yuuri whispered. “Yes.”

 

***

 

“Ready?”

“Ready,” Yuuri said, looking out at the crowded stands. He could feel the confusion and hear the mutterings that had begun when came to join Victor at the side of the rink. They didn’t know why he was there, a nameless boy in a costume and skates, standing with Victor Nikiforov.

He wasn’t nervous. That was the strange thing. Not even a little bit.

The murmur of voices only grew as they pushed out to their positions on the rink. In the centre, Victor held his head high. Slightly off to the side, Yuuri twisted his arms around himself, ready for the first emerging-butterfly motion of the routine. He breathed calmly, readying himself, until the music began.

As he skated, he felt free. He danced his freedom from fear, his joy at the ice beneath him, waiting for the moment when the music changed, the moment his character zeroed in on Victor’s. And then, when it did, he felt truly unbound.

There on the ice, he could be the person he wanted to be whenever he looked at Victor. He could dazzle and enchant and control. The anger of the fairy at the hero’s trespass became a rage he didn’t know he possessed.

_How dare you?_

_How dare you go to Chris’s bed?_

_You’re mine. Forget him. Forget everything. You’re mine._

He let himself be caught in Victor’s arms; then he twisted away, impossible to hold on to. He teased Victor and drew him forward, irresistible, with promises that he never intended to keep. He revelled in his own cruelty, laughed in joy at his revenge. And then, when he cast Victor aside entirely, he abandoned him, and watched his helpless, futile struggles.

The routine ended: Victor, despairing; Yuuri, triumphant.

Yuuri held the pose, chest heaving, until the swish of blades cut through the roar of the crowd. Victor’s hand on his shoulder spun him around, and they clung together too briefly.

“That was perfect,” Victor murmured in his ear. “That was exactly what I wanted. Take a bow, Yuuri.”

Yuuri did. The crowd were on their feet, applauding wildly, and somehow that was the moment he realised the enormity of what he had done. It felt like all the nervousness he should have felt before the performance crashed down on him all at once. His legs were shaking as Victor led him off the ice. Everyone was staring at him. He didn’t want to step through the barrier. He He wasn’t remotely prepared for cameras and microphones waiting for them. Instinctively, he huddled closer to Victor.

Victor seemed perfectly relaxed. His voice was light, laughing. “This is Yuuri Katsuki. I guess you could call him my protégé. He’ll be Japan’s next world champion. I’ll tell you all about him at the press conference. No questions for him. His English isn’t good.”

 

***

 

“Yuuri.”

Yuuri spun around. He’d thought he was alone in the dressing room, taking space to breathe and try to feel normal again while Victor did press. “Yakov-sensei,” he said, ducking his head. The Japanese honorific slipped out without his intending it to.

Yakov was standing with his hands on his hips, looking stern to the point of anger. “How much time did you spend learning that routine for him?” he demanded.

Yuuri blinked. “I… I don’t know,” he said, thinking back to the countless hours of practice. They hadn’t been for Victor, really. They’d been for school.

“Well, I can guess. It was impressive. You worked very hard and you did well.”

“Thank you?” ventured Yuuri, surprised.

“So, what did you get in return for all that hard work? Aside from being part of one of Victor’s little pieces of theatrics.”

“I… I got to skate with him.”

“And that’s all you want.” Yakov rolled his eyes to the heavens. “Vot tvoyu mat'! Listen to me, Yuuri. Victor is a thoughtless, self-absorbed boy. Right now he’s thinking about his skating and his mother. Nothing else. If he asks you to do something for him, he won’t ever consider what it’s costing you.”

“It didn’t cost anything.”

Some other expression came onto Yakov’s face then. Yuuri couldn’t tell if it was anger or contempt.

“Be careful, Yuuri,” he said. “Remember, I warned you.”

 

***

 

A little while before leaving for his flight back to Tokyo, Yuuri checked his email, and could barely believe his eyes. There were _dozens_ of unread messages waiting for him, from his parents, from Minako, from people at the rink. Tentatively, he clicked on the one from his sister. It was mostly exclamation marks, and a single link to an online article.

 

**_Victor Nikiforov continues to surprise at exhibition gala_ **

_For most skaters, landing a quadruple flip and breaking a world record would be enough surprises for one World Championships. Not so Victor Nikiforov. The day after his record-breaking win, the men’s singles gold medallist stunned the audience at the gala performance by bringing a completely unknown teenager onto the ice with him._

_As his exhibition piece Nikiforov skated a repeat of his free skate programme, Enchantment – which tells the story of a man led into the forest by a malicious sprite – with Yuuri Katsuki of Japan joining him to play the role of the sprite. While Nikiforov’s routine was substantially the same as he has been skating all season, the performance was completely altered by the addition of a second skater._

_“It was fascinating,” commented fellow medallist Stéphane Lambiel of Switzerland. “The sprite character was always suggested by the music and Victor’s movements, but seeing a skater take on the role made you realise that Enchantment was really a routine for two people the entire time.”_

**_A new Japanese star?_ **

_Although Katsuki has yet to gain a podium position in Japan’s Junior Championships, the 15-year-old put in a stunning turn on the ice at the gala. His effortlessly intricate step sequences didn’t look at all out of place beside the reigning World Champion._

_In an interview after the show, Nikiforov confirmed that he had been planning his exhibition piece for months, but had never held try-outs for the supporting role. “It had to be Yuuri,” he said. “I didn’t want anyone else.”_

_Nikiforov didn’t explain how he became aware of Katsuki’s skating, but it’s obvious that he saw something in it that the rest of the skating world has missed up to now. Based on his performance in Enchantment, Yuuri Katsuki is certainly a name to watch._

 

It was like finishing the routine over again – a sudden shock of disbelief at what he’d done and what it meant. This time, the shock was joined by a sickening feeling of dread.

Victor Nikiforov had singled him out. Victor Nikiforov expected great things from him. From now on, the whole skating world would be watching him. And he was still just plain, ordinary Yuuri Katsuki, a dime-a-dozen figure skater without the mental strength to land clean jumps in competition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chris and Victor**  
>  Tu es sérieux, Victor? Tu veux vraiment patiner avec lui? C'est un enfant. = Are you serious, Victor? You really want to skate with him? He’s a child.  
> Il a du talent. Ne sois pas jaloux, petit. = He’s talented. Don’t be jealous, little one.  
> Il rougit. Que c'est mignon. = He’s blushing. How cute.  
> N'est-ce pas? = I know, right?
> 
>  **Yakov (to Victor)**  
>  Vitya. Zachem? = Victor. Why?  
> (I bet he says this a lot.)
> 
>  **Chris (to Yuuri)**  
>  Tu es trop mignon. Tu seras un vrai tombeur plus tard. = You’re too cute. You’ll be a real heartbeaker soon.  
> Non, chéri, tu n'es pas prêt à entendre ça. = No, sweetie, you’re not ready to hear it.  
> Au revoir, beau mec. = Goodbye, gorgeous.
> 
>  **Yakov and Victor**  
>  Vedi sebya khorosho, ti za nego otvechaesh. = Behave yourself, you're responsible for him.  
> Perestan' volnovat'sya! = Stop worrying!
> 
>  **Yakov and Victor**  
>  Pozhaluysta, Victor. Ne bud' egoistom. Pozhaley menya. Ya star. = Please Victor. Don’t be selfish. Have pity on me. I’m old.  
> Vse poluchitsya etot raz. = I’ll succeed this time.  
> Ty uzhasnyy uchenik! = You’re a terrible student!
> 
>  **Victor and Chris**  
>  Laisse-moi te féliciter pour ta victoire. = Let me congratulate you on your victory.  
> C'est ça, petit. = That’s it, little one.  
> Je ne suis plus petit. = I’m not little anymore.  
> Je sais. = I know.
> 
>  **Yakov (to Yuuri)**  
>  Vot tvoyu mat'! = (vague equivalent of FFS)


	7. A bad year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mostly deals with Yuuri’s anxiety, and I found it a bit tough to write. Take care, y’all!
> 
> Thanks so much for all the comments on the last chapter. You guys are the best :)

In the week after arriving home from the World Championships, Yuuri found himself greeted by a hail of questions from everyone he met at the rink. They all wanted to know how he met Victor, and when they found time to train, and why he had never mentioned what he was doing.

Yuuri mumbled explanations: “He stayed at my parents’ hot spring one time,” and, “He coached me over Skype,” and, “He wanted to surprise people.” Since nobody was going to suspect magic as the answer, they had to accept what he said.

From his coach, Riku-sensei, the questions were less curious and more condemnatory.

“Explain to me, Yuuri, how I’m supposed to coach you when you’re training for a completely different programme without my knowledge. Do you think it doesn’t make a difference?”

“I’m sorry, Sensei. I didn’t think…”

“My student is now known throughout the world as Victor Nikiforov’s protégé. Tell me, the times you’ve questioned me, has it been because Victor Nikiforov was telling you something different?”

“No, Sensei.”

“I’m going to have to completely re-evaluate your abilities. You’ve been lying to me, Yuuri. Do you understand how much something like that could hold back your training?”

Yuuri hung his head. He didn’t know what to say.

“It was a beautiful piece of skating,” said Riku-sensei finally, almost grudgingly. “He didn’t ask you to do many jumps.”

Yuuri felt himself blushing. “He was playing to my strengths.”

“He was covering for your weaknesses,” corrected Riku-sensei. “Let’s get back to work. As Japan’s next World Champion, you have a lot to live up to.”

 

***

 

That phrase followed him everywhere.

“So _you’re_ Japan’s next World Champion, huh?” asked one of the senior skaters, who had ambitions to take that title himself.

“Can we get a picture with Japan’s next World Champion?” said a pair of fans who’d dropped by the rink. (And since when did he have _fans?_ )

“How does it feel to have Victor Nikiforov single you out as Japan’s next World Champion?” asked a reporter at his first competition of the new season – just a little regional qualifying competition, where there shouldn’t have been any reporters at all. Yuuri made something up about how it was very flattering but he was really just focused on making an impact as a junior skater. He couldn’t tell them the truth. He couldn't tell them about the times when the fear caught in his chest, and all of a sudden he couldn't breathe.

 

***

 

At Hogwarts, skating season wasn’t really constrained by the weather. If it wasn’t cold enough for the lake to freeze over, a spell could set things right. Yuuri’s Saturday classes the previous year had been popular. Obedient to Madam Hooch, he restarted them at the beginning of November – just three weeks before Japanese Juniors.  Already dreading the competition, he was glad of the distraction.

Magical kids barely understood that skating championships existed. They didn’t care if he won or lost. To them, even the simplest spins and jumps were mesmerising. When he skated a few simple sequences they made little ‘oohs’ of admiration, as though his skills were as fascinating as their own magic; the little warming charms they cast for each other, or the way they’d _Accio_ a dropped glove or send drifts of leaves dancing in the air just for the simple fun of it.

He was getting to know some of them. His favourite was the girl who had, with motherly concern, first cast a warming charm on him. Her name was Alice. She was younger than him, but aside from that she reminded him slightly of Yuuko. She had the same kind smile and sweet nature.

“You’re very brave, doing those jumps,” she told him one day, when his little group of skating students were sitting in the Hogwarts great hall, sipping cups of hot chocolate to revive them after the session. “I don’t know how you do it, without even a charm on your skates to keep you upright. I’d be terrified of falling.”

“I practise a lot,” mumbled Yuuri, blushing a little. Then, not quite sure what prompted him to ask, he said, “Do wizards use magic to… be not scared of things?”

“You mean like a calming draught?”

“What is that?”

“It’s a potion,” she said, with the slight wrinkle in her brow that suggested she thought he was rather odd. “You know. If you have a shock or you’re really frightened, you can drink it and it calms you down.”

“Do people use it before… um, exams?”

“Goodness, no! Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t give it out for that. If you were that upset, you shouldn’t be sitting an exam at all.” She looked at him worriedly. “Are you scared of exams, Yuuri? I can help you study if you like.”

“Part time students don’t take magic exams.”

“Oh,” she said wistfully. “You’re lucky. I wish I had your life.”

Yuuri tried to smile, and gave up on the idea of the calming draught. He wouldn’t be able to get his hands on the potion. Besides, taking it would probably be cheating. He briefly toyed with the idea of asking Professor McGonagall about it in ethics, just to make sure, but she had an uncanny ability to know what people were thinking, and he didn’t want to deal with awkward questions.

No. He could manage without magic potions. Everyone else did.

 

***

 

He had never felt so sick with nerves as he did before Juniors that year. It was being held at the Chukyo rink, so he didn’t have to travel, didn’t have to handle hotels and strange places, but that didn’t make it easier. The whole week running up to it, he couldn’t focus. The sports psychology visualisations and mental exercises he was supposed to do became utterly impossible, every attempt drowned out by the buzzing panic in his head. He could barely choke down the meals the nutritionists recommended. Most nights, he couldn’t sleep until he’d cried himself into exhaustion.

On the day of the short programme, the only visualisation he could muster was of himself getting on the next bus out of Tokyo. He thought about it all morning, while the earlier group skated. He could just walk out, just leave the city and wander through the countryside. He could live on his own, sleeping in sheds and begging for food, until everyone forgot who he was and what he was supposed to become.

At the rink, Riku-sensei didn’t say the usual things about mental strength. He said, “Have you slept?” and, “Just do your best,” as he ran Yuuri through his warm-up. Yuuri didn’t really register it. His mind was out in the countryside, in the cold fresh air, as far away as he could be.

Then his name was called, and there was nowhere left to run. His legs were shaking. The ice in front of him was flickering white. The watchers in the stands were a humming, faceless blur. _Breathe_ , he told himself. _Don’t panic_. But he was panicking, and he couldn’t find the rhythm to make his lungs work properly. He felt breathless before he even stepped onto the rink.

The music started, but it wasn’t music. It was just beats – one, two, three, four; step, step, step-step, jump. He couldn’t hear the tune. He couldn’t feel the emotion of it. No matter how hard he struggled, there was no space for any other emotion inside him.

When he fell – and of course he fell – he almost didn’t remember to get up and keep on skating. He almost just lay there on the ice, in the same daze that he’d been skating through. It was hard to find his place again in the dull drum-beats that should have been music. Somehow, he clawed his way to the end of the routine with no more mistakes, but he knew it had been the most lifeless performance he had ever given. His programme component scores weren’t going to save him this time.

_Better than last year,_ he told himself when they read out the score. But last year he’d been just Yuuri Katsuki, not Victor Nikiforov’s protégé. Last year nobody had cared.

Riku-sensei’s hand was on his shoulder. “Yuuri? Come on. Let’s find you some water and a place to sit down.”

The competition continued. More people scored higher than him. By the end of the day, he was in sixth.

“You can’t keep on like this, Yuuri,” said Riku-sensei.

“I’m sorry, Sensei.”

Riku-sensei kept on talking, but Yuuri couldn’t hear him.

 

***

 

The next day, when he came out of the changing room to find his coach, he heard voices coming from around the corner of the corridor.

“Riku, I don’t like the look of your student,” said one, a woman’s voice that Yuuri didn’t know.

“I know,” Riku-sensei said, sounding tense. “I don’t think I should let him skate, but it might be worse to pull him now.”

Yuuri clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the sob that wanted to escape, and bolted back into the changing room. His own coach didn’t want him to disgrace himself in public.

He stayed in the dressing room, stretching and warming up, until Riku-sensei knocked on the door and called for him. Then he slunk out with his head down, unable to meet his coach’s eyes. As they approached the rink, he thought of the day before, of the music dead and tuneless in his ears, of lying on the ice without any desire to get back up. He could imagine the people talking in the stands: _“Huh. Pretty poor showing for someone who’s supposed to be Japan’s next World Champion. What on earth does Victor Nikiforov see in him?”_

_Please_ , he thought. _Oh god, please, Victor, help me_.

And then he thought of Victor at the Hogwarts show, blocking out the view of the audience, saying, “You and me, Yuuri.” He thought of Victor, eyes sparkling as everyone at the World Championship gala murmured in confusion. He thought of Victor saying, “Ready?”

“Ready,” said Yuuri quietly to himself.

He set his skates to the ice and thought about his programme. He thought of all the places where Riku-sensei had sighed and said, “Alright, we’ll cut down the difficulty there.” Victor wouldn’t do that. Victor had kept right on trying at the quad flip, not caring if he threw away the highest-stakes competitions of the year doing it.

_You and me, Yuuri._

Later, he didn’t remember the skate at all. He remembered being back at the rinkside, with Riku-sensei’s arm around his shoulders, Riku-sensei’s voice in his ear saying, “Well done, Yuuri. Take a breath. Deep breaths, come on. You did really well.”

He didn’t remember hearing the score read out. He only learned it days later – 147.50, for a total of 187.96. More than enough. Then he was standing on the top step of the podium, a bunch of flowers in his shaking hands. He’d done it. He was the Japanese Junior Champion. There was a gold medal around his neck, telling the whole world that Victor Nikiforov’s protégé hadn’t failed.

There was no happiness to the feeling; just relief. And even that was fading fast.

He was the top young skater in Japan. He’d get a special invitation to compete in the senior-level Japanese Championships next month. They’d announce the roster for World Juniors, and his name would be on it. There would be bigger crowds and bigger expectations and always that sign hanging above his head, _Japan’s next World Champion_.

Yuuri tried to breathe. His head was spinning. Suddenly he was terrified he was going to throw up, right there in the middle of the ice.

Next month. Another competition, even bigger than this one.

On either side of him, the silver and bronze medal winners were stepping down from the podium. Yuuri followed, stumbling a little as his skates hit the ice again. Head down, he made his way off the rink, panic thrumming through him. He didn’t know where his skate guards were. Without his skate guards, he couldn’t escape.

“Yuuri? Here. Come on.”

It was Riku-sensei, with Yuuri’s favourite red-and-white skate guards in hand. Yuuri found himself hustled off the ice. They were halfway back to the changing rooms when the reporters reached them.

“Yuuri! Congratulations. Do you think Victor Nikiforov would be proud of your achievement today?”

“Would you call this the first step towards your World Championship victory?”

“Yuuri, are you excited to attend the senior championships?”

“How about a smile for the cameras, Yuuri?”

A smile? He tried. He forced his lips to twitch upwards. But with that little relaxation of muscles, he knew everything was going to fall apart.

“Excuse me,” said Riku-sensei firmly, and just kept on walking. A door closed behind them. Yuuri’s shaking legs deposited him onto a seat, and then he was clinging to Riku-sensei, gasping for breath, crying the way he would in his mother’s arms.

“It’s alright, Yuuri. It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Yuuri didn’t know how long he cried there, while Riku-sensei rubbed his back and murmured soothing things. He only knew that it was a long time before he could manage to choke out the words he needed to say:

“I c-c-can’t… I can’t skate in seniors.”

The voice in his ears didn’t sound like his own. It was thin and hysterical.

“You’re not going to,” said Riku-sensei. His voice sounded strange too, softer and warmer than usual. There was no sign of the stern, focused coach that Yuuri knew. “Not this year.”

“But… they’ll invite me.”

“Yes, they will. But I’m your coach and I’m saying no.”

“I just can’t,” Yuuri said again.

“That’s okay. You’re going to take a break for now. ”

“I’m sorry.” Yuuri hunched up around another bout of sobs. He was so ashamed of himself. He was mentally weak, just like everyone had always said.

“It isn’t your fault,” said Riku-sensei gently. “I should have seen this coming, but I was careless. I was angry about the stunt you pulled with Nikiforov and I pushed you too hard.”

“I should’ve…” Yuuri mumbled, meaning that he should have been able to cope with it, but Riku-sensei cut him off.

“I shouldn’t have blamed you. He asked you to keep a secret, so of course you did. There isn’t a skater your age in the world who’d say no to him. You skated well. I was very proud.”

Yuuri’s sobs were starting to die away.  He blinked his sore eyes, registering for the first time where they were. It was the rink’s staffroom, where the coaches spent their time between classes. He’d never been inside it, barely seen inside it before, only the quick glimpses he got when he knocked on the door and Riku-sensei or one of the other coaches came out. He felt out of place, as though he were in forbidden territory.

“I’m going to make some tea,” said Riku-sensei.

They were both silent for a little while, while the kettle boiled and the tea brewed, filling the room with its fresh, soothing fragrance. Yuuri sipped at his cup obediently, letting it wet his mouth, dried out from crying.

“Are you going to send me home?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I messed up.”

Quite unexpectedly, Riku-sensei gave a crack of laughter. “You won, Yuuri. Didn’t you notice? You’re one of my best students and you just won a major competition. Am I supposed to be angry with you?”

“But… I should be skating in Seniors. And, Sensei, what about World Juniors?”

“We’ll see how you’re doing closer to the competition. For now, drink your tea, and then I’ll take you home so you can get some sleep. Everything else we’ll figure out in the morning.”

“I’m letting everyone down.”

“You’re doing as your coach tells you.”

Mechanically, Yuuri finished his tea, washed his face and followed Riku-sensei out to the parking garage.

 

***

 

There was a lot of talking in the weeks that followed. Talks with his sports psychologist, and then with the club’s doctor, and then another doctor, who gave him a prescription and recommended a therapist.

“Isn’t it cheating?” Yuuri asked, looking at the innocuous little pill bottle Riku-sensei collected for him.

“It’s medicine, Yuuri, not a banned drug. Your doctor gave it to you because you need it. Plenty of other athletes do too.”

Therapy appointments were an added misery. The therapist was nice enough, but he couldn’t actually tell her the truth about his life; if he had, she’d probably have referred him back to the doctor to have a schizophrenia diagnosis added onto his anxiety disorder.

She wanted him to talk about skating, but skating meant Victor, and Victor meant magic, and it was all too complicated for him to keep straight in his head. After a while, she gave up on talk and they worked on coping strategies instead. That wasn’t so bad, really.

He didn’t like the pills either. “The side effects should fade after a few weeks,” the doctor said, and he couldn’t wait for those weeks to be over. He felt sick and sluggish and a little off balance. He couldn’t skate, beyond simple laps of the rink, but since he wasn’t really supposed to be skating anyway that didn’t matter much.

No skating. Just endless ballet exercises and strength training, stretches, massages and cardio; all the simple rote work he could have done in his sleep. There was too much time to think, to go over and over all the things he’d done wrong and all the ways he was failing. But constantly, beneath all of that, there was relief. Despite the guilt he felt as he watched the senior competitors prepare for the championships, he was achingly relieved not to be competing.

 

***

 

“Have a soda, Yuuri,” said Miyu, holding out a can already starting to bead with condensation in the warm, crowded living room of her apartment.

Yuuri nodded a polite, “thank you,” and managed to return her friendly smile with a thin one of his own.

She was being nice to him. All of his rinkmates were. He didn’t know whether Riku-sensei had said something, or whether the rink gossip had just done its usual mysterious work. One way or another, every single person at Miyu’s Grand Prix Final watch party knew exactly what had happened after Junior Nationals.

Everything they said to him was soft and careful. When commentators on the TV announced that it was Victor’s turn to skate, he could almost hear his rinkmates holding their mouths shut against those dangerous words: _protégé; Japan’s next World Champion._

For once, Victor wasn’t skating last; he’d placed second in the short programme. Yuuri hadn’t seen it, but as he watched Victor begin his free skate he could understand why. Victor was far away from his usual perfect form. There was a tension to his limbs, as though all his focus was on trying not to fall. His gestures were sketchy, tracing lines that he couldn’t seem to see clearly. With every jump, Yuuri could see gravity dragging him down.

Yuuri squeezed his fists until his nails dug into his palms. His breath was coming short and fast. The thought that came into his head was utterly illogical: _It’s my fault._

He was a failure, and now Victor was failing too, and it was all his fault. He tried to push the thought away, to tell his brain to quiet down, but it just kept on clamouring at him. He’d done this. He’d destroyed Victor’s career.

“Yuuri?”

Miyu put her hand on his arm, looking at him worriedly. “Yuuri, are you alright?”

“I want to go home.”

She nodded, brisk and kind. “Okay. Hisato, go with him.”

“No-” Yuuri began, but Miyu cut him off.

“Yes. I’m not letting you go out there on your own.”

Yuuri wanted to object that he was sixteen now, he didn’t need to be babied, but he needed all his energy just to keep breathing steadily.

Hisato made no complaint at being volunteered, just jumped to his feet with a friendly smile and fetched both their coats.

“What’s your address, Yuuri?” he asked, as he ushered Yuuri out of the door.

Yuuri gave it. It wasn’t what he’d really meant. When he’d said, “I want to go home,” he hadn’t been thinking of Akane’s apartment. He’d been thinking of Hasetsu, of the beach in the sunshine, of Vicchan bounding into his arms with barks of delight. He wished he could go back, but he knew he couldn’t. If he did, his mother would look at him with her face full of concern, and say, “Yuuri, dear, are you sure you want to keep on skating?” This time, he didn’t think he’d be able to say yes.

 

***

 

Although Yuuri didn’t see the last competitor skate, he wasn’t surprised to learn that Victor came fourth in the Grand Prix final, missing the podium in competition for the first time in years.

It went on that way. In Russian nationals, he scraped gold with a score 30 points off his personal best. Yuuri didn’t watch, but he spent that night sobbing into his pillow, his body twisted up around the senseless guilt.

Then it was Europeans, and Victor took bronze. That time was too much. Feeling unutterably miserable and unutterably stupid, Yuuri blurted out his fears in his therapist’s appointment, explaining in shaking, broken sentences that he knew how ridiculous it was, he did, but he just couldn’t stop the thoughts from replaying themselves over and over in his head.

To his surprise, she didn’t laugh at him. They worked on it, just like they worked on being able to say no when Riku-sensei asked him if he wanted to skate in World Juniors. It was another surprise when Riku-sensei smiled instead of getting angry.

“Good. I didn’t want that to be your first competition back.”

By May, with the cherry blossoms already falling from the trees out in the parks, he even managed to switch on the TV and watch Victor compete in the World Championships.

At first, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Victor’s performance was completely different from every other time Yuuri had seen him skate that year. He flowed into the jumps fearlessly. He seemed utterly absorbed in the music. Once again, he was the Victor Yuuri recognised: the Victor he had skated with.

_I’m feeling better, so he’s doing better_ , Yuuri thought. It was just as illogical as his earlier fears, but it made him feel warm inside. He was grinning as they hung the gold medal around Victor’s neck.

He kept the TV on to watch Victor’s interview. That was when everything changed.

“In most competitions this year, you haven’t had the same successes as in previous seasons,” the interviewer said. “What turned things around for you this time?”

Victor was just as beautiful as ever, despite his sharp cheekbones and tired eyes. “My country is very important to me,” he said, flicking his hair and flirting with the camera. “My performance here ensures there are three Russian entrants at the Olympics. I brought my A-game to the table.”

“And what’s the secret to bringing your A-game?”

Victor laughed. To Yuuri, who’d heard him laugh many times before, the sound had a hollow note to it.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Magic?”

 

***

 

Watching the tape of Victor’s programme for the third time, Yuuri knew that this was one thing he’d have to deal with on his own. He couldn’t tell his therapist how he was feeling. He couldn’t tell anyone, ever.

The tiny flaws throughout the programme were clearest in the quad flip. If this were one of his own tapes, Riku-sensei would have made him point them out – body angle, speed, rotation. Victor shouldn’t have made the jump. He should have fallen.

It was like magic.

“He wouldn’t,” Yuuri told himself, in a whisper.

But he knew that Victor had.


	8. Two steps forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, a huge thank you to everyone who left kudos or comments - it really means a lot. Special thanks to Tawabids and Hils, and to brixtonsun for Russian help.
> 
> If you have a question, especially about warnings/worries, contact me on tumblr - I'm soshhy.

The first time a reporter said the name _Victor Nikiforov_ , Yuuri felt his fists clench, unbidden.

“I’m not Victor Nikiforov’s protégé,” he said fiercely. “I’m my own skater, skating in my own style, and I’m going to prove that this year.”

It was September, and he was in Poland for assignment number one of the Junior Grand Prix series. The Torun Cup was his first serious competition since that awful Japanese Juniors. He’d survived a little regional Juniors qualifier already. This was a whole different level of intensity, but he felt bizarrely okay about it.

_I might not be perfect, but at least I’m not a cheat._

He was nervous, but he’d slept well the previous night. In his whole life, he’d never slept properly before a competition before. And the thoughts that always filled his head…

_I’m going to fall, I’m going to mess up-_

No.

He knew how to do this. He’d trained for this, these past few months, just liked he’d trained his body for most of his life.

_I’m afraid of falling. I’m afraid of messing up. It’s okay to be afraid._

He used his coping strategies and did his stretches, and he waited for his turn. He was afraid, and he was okay.

It wasn’t his best performance. Focusing was a struggle. His legs felt weak, his stomach squirmed. He messed up the rotation on two jumps in the short programme and one in the free skate. Overall, he placed fourth.

The way Riku-sensei smiled at him afterwards, he felt almost like he’d taken gold.

 

***

 

Yuuri hadn’t been expecting to do especially well in the Grand Prix series, and he wasn’t surprised not to make the final. In fact, he was almost relieved. If he’d made it to the final, he would have seen Victor there. Victor was having a good start to the season. Whenever Yuuri heard his rinkmates discussing Victor’s astonishing new programmes and astounding musicality, he gritted his teeth and kept his head down, marching past any conversation before he could be drawn in.

Instead, he focused his energy on the Japan Junior Championships. Despite the high expectations that came from his last gold medal, the competition went well for him. Perhaps it was simply because he’d felt so dreadful the previous year that anything else felt relaxing in comparison. His nerves were more settled than they’d been at his Grand Prix events, and it showed in his scores. After the short programme, he was seven points ahead of the field. After the free skate, it was twenty.

“You don’t belong in juniors anymore,” said Riku-sensei, as Yuuri took off the gold medal and slipped it into his pocket. “Are you ready to skate in seniors this year?”

Yuuri nodded. He was six days shy of his seventeenth birthday, and he knew he ought to be competing against people who could offer him a challenge. “Yes, Sensei. And I want a medal.”

 

***

 

On the day Yuuri turned seventeen, he had a special meeting at Mahoutokoro. The headmistress, the tiny woman who had visited him and his parents over five years ago, met him outside the international classroom and walked with him through the unfamiliar corridors of the school to her study. There, she opened a drawer in her desk. Inside it, Yuuri could make out a row of wands nestled on a bed of green silk.

She gave him a long, careful look, then reached out unerringly to pluck a wand from its place.

“You are a wizard, Yuuri. Muggle-born or not, you have magic in your blood, and you will never be quite like the people around you. As a wizard, you should have a wand. I will need your signature on some documents, and then this is yours to keep.”

Yuuri had known this was coming. Everyone in his class knew; the oldest had already collected their wands and were telling stories of using them secretly in their everyday lives. They’d also told their classmates about the conditions of owning a wand in the muggle world, the documents they signed, the promises they made.

Yuuri had wondered whether, when the time came, he would say no, just as he had said no when the headmistress had first offered him a place at the school. If he did, he’d be safe from the path that Victor had taken.

He took the quill she handed to him, and he signed.

“A wand is a great responsibility. Remember, your first duty is always to uphold the Wizarding Statute of Secrecy. Keep in mind everything you’ve learned in your magical ethics lessons, and use your wand wisely.”

Yuuri hesitated just for a moment before holding out both hands to receive the wand. He bowed his head in thanks. “I will.”

 

***

 

“Oh, let me see!” said Alice, when Yuuri told her about his new acquisition.

Yuuri took the wand out of his pocket. He liked the look of it – black wood with little lines of silver set into the handle. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” he said, handing it over so she could examine it.

“Ebony,” she said. “What’s the core?”

“Scale of, uh… kirin?” he said. “I don’t know the English.”

“We call it that too. It’s powerful,” she said, as though it somehow reflected well on him. She handed it back to him. “Let’s see you use it. It’s so funny that you’ve never had one of your own before. You’d have been hexed silly if you’d gone to school here without a wand.”

Yuuri swallowed. He hadn’t actually used the wand to cast a spell outside of class – which meant he hadn’t cast a spell _at all_ outside of class. He took a cautious look around, then pointed the wand at the bowl of marshmallows in the centre of the table. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.” Swish. Flick.

Two dozen marshmallows rose into the air. Yuuri scribbled with the tip of his wand, and they formed themselves into shapes. Y-U-R-I.

Magic. Just because he wanted to. Just because he could.

“I don’t know if I’ll use it back home,” he admitted, blushing at her little round of applause. “What if someone sees? I could start Japan’s next witch hunts.”

“Were there witch hunts in Japan?” said Alice, absently snagging two of the marshmallows with her own wand and dunking them into her hot chocolate. “I didn’t know that. We only had a couple of lessons on the British ones in Muggle Studies and History of Magic, back in third year. I suppose it happened everywhere.”

“Yes,” said Yuuri, feeling a little surprised. He and his classmates had spent a solid term of Wizarding History on witch hunts, and revisited them in Magical Ethics every few months. “Witches and Wizards were killed all over the world. That’s why the Statute of Secrecy is international.”

“Hm? Oh, yes, I suppose so. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“We think about it all the time,” said Yuuri. He was bored to tears of the Statute of Secrecy. Honestly, he felt like the concept, _Wizards don’t help muggles because muggles kill wizards_ , was simple enough that he shouldn’t need to write seven separate essays about its practicalities and implications. Yes, there were ethical concerns. Yes, a lot of wizards had tried to help muggles one way or another, and had been punished for it. It worried him, and it upset him to think about it, and he and he really wished he could just stop.

“Strange,” said Alice. “It must be because you spend so much more time with muggles. Yuuri, what are they like?”

“Muggles? They’re… they’re normal people.”

“You know what I mean! They’re not like us.”

“They’re like _me_ ,” Yuuri objected. “I only learned magic because the headmistress at Mahoutokoro said I had to. When I finish school I’ll be a muggle again, except that I have my wand.”

She laughed. “Yuuri, you’re a wizard. You can’t just be a muggle. It’d be like me transfiguring my ears pointy and calling myself a house elf.”

“I just won't use magic.”

Her smile faded into confusion. “What? That’s ridiculous. Why wouldn’t you use magic? Anyway, you’re still wrong. Even if I threw away my wand and spent the rest of my life wearing a pillowcase and washing dishes, I still wouldn’t be a house elf.” She rolled her eyes at him. “You’re being stupid. Let’s talk about something else.”

 

***

 

 

Three evenings later, Akane and her husband went out on a dinner date and sent the kids to sleep over with friends. Yuuri was alone in the apartment. He’d just finished the nutritionally approved rice, salmon and vegetables he’d made himself, and was contemplating the washing up, when his hand crept down to his pocket almost of its own accord. Fingers trembling slightly, he took out his wand. Quietly, but with determination, he said, “ _Scourgify_.”

In a flash, the dishes were clean. Yuuri stared at them. He shouldn’t have felt so astonished – he’d done the spell many times before. But doing it in class just hadn’t been the same. He sat still for a long few moments, running a disbelieving finger over the squeaky-clean plate, before gathering the presence of mind to put the dishes away in the cupboard. As he walked past the mirror in the hallway, he discovered that he was grinning all over his face.

Later that night, he cast _lux_ and slid his glowing wand inside the shade of his little bedside lamp. To anyone walking past the cubby, it would have looked as though the light was on. Yuuri, sitting there in the warm glow, knew differently. He smiled to himself for a while. Then, with a sigh, he opened up his laptop and got back to work on his latest Magical Ethics essay.

_…The ethical dilemmas inherent in the Statute of Secrecy cause many wizards to struggle with their consciences. Temptation to break the Statute proved so strong that an amendment was introduced banning the recording, teaching or researching of spells for curing muggle diseases. All knowledge of these spells was systematically erased from the wizarding world, and they remain forgotten today._

_However, a UK project known as the Muggle Betterment Initiative, introduced since the defeat of the Death Eaters, aims to circumvent the Statute, using divination and financial investment to help muggles help themselves. Wizards try to divine which potential muggle inventions, such as green energy generators or medical treatments, have potential, and provide funding…_

Help muggles help themselves. Yuuri shuddered. As though muggles were some sort of sustainable charity project. Sometimes when he thought too hard about it he wished he still lived in happy ignorance of the wizarding world. Some small part of him wished that he had never met Victor either, had just known him as a dazzling figure in the distance, a perfect being with no deceit or flaws. And yet… his wand gave out its beautiful, impossible light, and he loved it. He was in a pool of his own magic, and it would be his to use forever.

As the week went by, he found himself using the wand in many little ways. He was careful, of course – he only ever used it when he was alone, and he never did anything that could have been discovered. If he felt safe, he didn’t hesitate. It was such a little thrill, when he was running late and he couldn’t find his phone, to just whisper, “ _Accio_ ,” and let it fly into his hand.

 

***

 

He took his wand with him to Seniors. It was a gesture of defiance, really, having it right there in his pocket. Even though he wished he could just take away the risk of falling, or magically alleviate all the anxiety that was bubbling beneath the surface of his composure, he wasn’t going to use that wand. Not once during the entire competition was he even slightly tempted.

 _I might not be perfect, but at least I’m not a cheat,_ he told himself yet again as he stepped out onto the ice. It had become something of a mantra. The words fitted well with the grim determination he’d learned to gather around himself before every skate.

He did end up with a medal. Bronze, with a personal best in both his programmes. He might not be a World Champion, but he had a national championship medal around his neck, and he had done it without magic.

 

***

 

Yuuri had avoided watching Victor’s programmes all year. The theme, he knew, was joy. He had heard the commentators discussing it occasionally, but he had always turned the TV off or stopped the online video before the actual skate.

For the Vancouver Olympics, he finally cracked.

In his time zone, the men’s free skate was held on a Monday, at lunchtime. He skipped school that day without any sense of guilt. Some things were more important.

Akane and her husband were at work and the children were at school, so he had the apartment and the TV to himself. Out of habit, he pushed back some furniture to make a space to stretch while he watched. There would be a lot of skaters to get through, and his life was so busy that he’d learned never to waste time.

There was no question in his mind as to who would win. This was the gold medal Victor had always wanted. This was the medal he’d half killed himself for when they’d both been in school.

The other skaters went through their paces. Chris skated well, Yuuri noted with a hint of dislike. Hisato, one of two skaters for Japan, gave a technically perfect but somewhat uninspiring performance. And then, finally, it was Victor’s turn.

He was so graceful. Even just skating onto the rink, he seemed to be of a completely different calibre to every competitor who had gone before. His smile could have stopped hearts. _Joy_ , the commentators said, and it was. It was the most joyful piece of skating that Yuuri could have imagined. Joy in all its aspects, from laughter to tenderness. It was life and love in motion.

When Victor finally came to stillness, when the camera zoomed in on his face, he was still smiling, and his eyes were brimming with tears.

Yuuri was smiling too. He had no choice. Victor had cast out a net of happiness, and Yuuri was well and truly caught.

Yuuri watched on, through scores and the medal ceremony and the anthem, almost able to pretend that everything was alright, that this was something worth celebrating. He kept up the brave face until the TV cut to an interviewer telling the camera the she was here with gold medallist Victor Nikiforov.

Victor had discarded his podium bouquet. A single rose was tucked behind his ear, and the oddly abstract and rippling medal lay heavy against the fabric of his costume.

“Victor, you landed every jump of your programme cleanly, and the judges were clearly impressed by your presentation. What’s your feeling about your performance here today?”

Victor laughed. “I want to do more than impress. I want to astonish.” He cocked his head, thoughtful. “But how should I answer you? Am I satisfied? Never! But did I do what I came here to do? Absolutely.” He slid a long fingertip down the medal on his chest. “I’ve always wanted one of these.”

“I think it’s fair to say that you managed to astonish us today. And what’s the secret to your success?”

 _Don’t say it,_ Yuuri begged him silently. If he heard the word _magic_ on Victor’s lips again he wasn’t sure he’d be able to bear it.

Victor looked straight at the interviewer, his blue eyes clear and direct. “I owe a lot to the people around me,” he said. “I couldn’t have done this without my coach and his team, and the support of my fans, and especially my mother. Sadly she couldn’t be here today, but I know she’s watching me on TV.” He blew a kiss to the camera. “Privet, Mamochka! Ochen' yublyu tebya.”

It was like an echo in Yuuri’s mind. A boy’s voice calling out in a little house in St Petersburg: “Ko mne, Makkachin! Privet, Mamochka!”

He remembered a hug and a warm welcome, hot cocoa and Russian pastries. He remembered a willowy woman with Victor’s pale hair, laughing as her son swept her into a dance. He remembered how Victor had glowed when he was with her.

 _I wonder if you know_ , he thought. Did that laughing woman know what her son had done? Or was she watching the TV in ignorance, truly proud of his false accomplishments?

In his mind’s eye Yuuri could see her smile, and he knew that if she found out, she would forgive Victor. She would forgive him anything. Yuuri wasn’t sure why that knowledge made him feel better.

 

***

 

Although he knew it wouldn’t make a difference, Yuuri was unable to stop himself from spending a solid twenty minutes rewatching the Youtube video of Victor’s free skate. This time, he couldn’t spot any tell-tale mistakes. Victor’s entry into the quad flip was flawless, and his skating was fluid and natural in every perfect step. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t cheating. It just meant he’d got better at it.

As an added piece of masochism, Yuuri scoured the web for every one of Victor’s post-Olympic interviews he could find, from all the different TV channels. As far as he could tell, Victor hadn’t made any brazen cracks about magic, even in the interviews he’d given in Russian and French – Yuuri looked up the words for magic, just to be sure. He was glad. In that interview from Worlds, it had felt like Victor was being utterly shameless.

There was one odd thing, though. In every single interview, Victor blew a kiss to the camera and said the same Russian phrase to his mother. It was a phrase Yuuri recognised. Years ago, he’d learned something similar, just in case he ever needed to say it.

Ochen' lyublyu tebya.

I love you very much.

 

***

 

For Yuuri, the dreaded World Juniors involved three phone calls to his therapist, one bout of tears, and another bronze medal to add to his collection. Overall, he counted it as a success.

And then it was the World Championships. Yuuri wasn’t on the team. There were only two slots for Japanese entrants that year, and they went to the gold and silver medallists at Nationals. Even if Yuuri had been selected, he didn’t think Riku-sensei would have let him go. And again, he wouldn’t have wanted to, because Victor would be there, and he wouldn’t have known what to do about it.

But Victor didn’t skate at the World Championships that year. The Olympics marked the end of his season. There were rumours of an injury, but no official announcement. Nobody seemed to know for sure.

Maybe, Yuuri thought, the Olympic medal was the last thing he’d wanted. Maybe now he’d decided to put away his wand and his skates and let someone else have a chance at gold.


	9. The secret of success

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'd just like to remind you of that OC character death warning from the beginning of this fic. If you feel like you need to know more, check out the end notes.

It was a bright morning in late October. The store front on the busy Tokyo street looked like a perfectly ordinary tea shop, except for the one major oddity; despite the welcoming window display of teas surrounded by an indoor jungle of flower fronds, nobody was going in. Indeed, nobody even paused to peer into the window. It was as though they simply didn’t notice it was there.

Yuuri, as always, was different.

Perhaps unwisely, he’d decided to take his mind off the stresses of the NHK Trophy, just two days away, by doing something else that made him nervous. But he had to do it sometime. Up until that year, his magic lessons had been based on a small selection of borrowed textbooks. In their final year, the students had the chance to specialise in spells of particular interest to them. Yuuri, of course, had asked to learn the same spells that Victor had used to create an ice rink, and for that his professors had given him a short list of books to buy for himself. So here he was, taking his first trip into Wizarding Tokyo.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Despite being part of a much taller building, the teashop was somehow flooded with natural light from skylights overhead. Under it, the plants grew lush and green. In between the pots and leaves were little tables occupied by bright-robed people. Yuuri tried not to stare. He’d never actually seen wizards and witches outside of school. It seemed unlikely that they would go out dressed like bright butterflies _all the time_ … but maybe they did? How they avoided being noticed amidst the hordes of Tokyo businesspeople, he had no idea.

A few of the people had glanced up and were watching him. Hastily, he made his way up to the counter where a white-aproned woman was waiting.

“Hello!” she said brightly. “Stopping for tea?”

“Oh, uh…” Yuuri began, a little flustered. “I’m looking for a bookshop?”

“Go on through.”

The direction she had indicated didn’t seem to have any way through to anywhere. It was just another part of the tea shop, with more tables and more plants and a wall at the end.

“But… where do I go?”

She chuckled gently. “Muggle-born or out-of-towner?”

Yuuri could feel himself blushing. “Muggle-born.”

She smiled at him, and gestured to the back wall. “Touch your wand to the painting and trace the line of the mountain, that’ll let you into the atrium. You do have a wand, don’t you?”

“Oh, um, yes.” Yuuri fumbled it out of his pocket and almost dropped it on the floor. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry, it’s easy.”

Tentatively, Yuuri stepped around the groups of potted plants and approached the wall. It was covered with a floor-to-ceiling mural of a sakura tree in bloom, with a rugged mountain in the background. It looked completely solid. Taking a deep breath, he placed the tip of his wand to the base of the painted mountain and drew it along the rocky outline, up the slope and down the other side until he reached the place where it met the trunk of the tree.

For a moment, nothing happened, and he started to feel very stupid. Then the wall shimmered in front of him. The colours of the painting began to glow. As the shimmering died away, the mural wasn’t painted on a wall at all. It was painted on a shoji screen, with warm light shining through it from behind.

He slid the screen aside.

The first impression he got was of a rainbow of colours. The people thronging the wide, traditional room were as brightly dressed as the tea shop customers. The room itself was almost as colourful. While some of the wall screens were white, others were painted in complex designs, which – Yuuri blinked a few times to be sure – were definitely moving.

The flooring was all tatami matting. He blinked at it, looked around him, and then turned worriedly back to the woman at the counter. “Excuse me? I’m sorry, but… where should I put my shoes?”

She gave her kindly chuckle again. “Just step onto the mat.”

“But-” Yuuri began. An elderly couple were crossing the room right in front of him. Both of them were barefoot.

“It’s alright.”

Yuuri bit his lip and put one cautious foot across the threshold. As he did so, his sneaker and sock simply melted away.

“Take the left hand corridor for the bookshop,” she told him. “Good luck!”

It was utterly bizarre, walking barefoot through a vast building of painted screens, like being in a cross between a shopping mall and a royal palace.

The figures on the glowing paper screens waved at him as he passed. Painted people and monkeys and dragons beckoned to him and pointed to the elegant designs of wands, clothes, musical instruments, or whatever else they shared their screen with. Yuuri did his best to ignore them, until finally he came to a screen where a painted snake was balancing a pile of books on its head. The snake winked at him and motioned to him with its tail.

Attached to the door was a little sign that read: _Amachi Books and Wisdom_.

Yuuri slid the door open. Under his hand, the snake gave an approving hiss.

Inside the shop – which seemed like a fairly ordinary bookshop, aside from the titles of the books – Yuuri showed his list to a tall, round man in a bright yellow robe. The man ran his finger down the list. “Ah – a younger sibling at Mahoutokoro, yes? It’s good that they still give them a thorough grounding in the basics. Let’s see.” He disappeared through a screen, scratching at his chin, and returned a moment later with three slim books.

Yuuri paid in Yen, still glumly fixating on the word _basics._ It was a dismal reminder that he was just an ignorant part-time student. Every other witch and wizard out there probably knew more magic than he could ever dream of. He left the shop with a handful of change in a bewildering selection of little coins, and stood to the side of the corridor poking at them, wondering what to do with them. They would be no good to him out in the real world, so he might as well spend them while he was there.

Some sixth sense must have prompted him to look up from the coins at exactly the right moment. If he’d kept on trying to count them for another thirty seconds, he would have completely missed seeing Victor step out of a shop a little way back towards the atrium.

Shocked, Yuuri jerked back towards the bookshop door, reflexively trying to get out of sight. But Victor didn’t even glance in his direction. He looked purposeful and intent, in a hurry to be somewhere else.

Yuuri had often imagined what it would be like to see Victor again, but in his mind’s eye the confrontation had always taken place at some competition or other, and it was always powered by anger. This was different. This was just a glimpse of a beautiful young man, barefoot in a trench coat, holding a paper bag of something-or-other and going on his way.

Yuuri watched as Victor made his way back in the direction of the tea shop. With his muggle clothes and his pale hair, he stuck out like a sore thumb from the people around him. Yuuri could see him quite clearly all the way to the end of the corridor, until he turned the corner and disappeared. Yuuri was left there, still staring after him, feeling bewildered and empty and yearning.

Finally, the oddity of the situation broke through his tangled mess of feelings. He couldn’t think what Victor could possibly be doing in a wizarding shop in Japan. Curious, he went over to the shop that Victor had come out of. The shoji was painted with fish and frogs darting through swirling, multi-coloured liquids. The sign read: _Izumi Wakahisa, Specialist Potions._

Yuri went in, and found himself completely surrounded by shelves of glass bottles and jars in all colours of the rainbow. The witch behind the counter gave him a bright smile. “How can I help you, dear?

“I just… um. What do you sell?”

“The finest potions in all of Japan! Hair potions, strength solutions, love potions, even Veritaserum, though I won’t be selling that to you, young man. Now, our speciality is this pain relief potion. The most effective in the world. It’s my own creation. You can’t buy it anywhere else but here.”

Yuri frowned. “Would the pain potion be good for a sports injury?”

“A sports injury?” said the witch, mildly surprised. “If you’ve injured yourself, you should go to a healer. Ah, but I can see you’re a muggle-born, of course, you can’t tell a wand from a chopstick. For the healer’s office, you go to the main atrium and take the middle passage.”

“Oh. Thank you?”

Yuri went out and back the way he came, cautiously, in case Victor was still exploring the shops. It didn’t make sense. Japan seemed a very long way to go for a potion, even if they were particularly good. Then a much simpler explanation presented itself. Of course, Victor was in Japan to watch the NHK Trophy. He had dropped into the store for something perfectly ordinary, like… well, Yuuri didn’t exactly know what was perfectly ordinary (a hangover potion? A sleeping potion? Surely he didn’t need a love potion), just because he happened to be in town.

Yuuri’s chest tightened. Victor would be at his competition. He wouldn’t be competing, but he would be _there._ He would be watching.

Yuuri wasn’t sure how he was going to cope with that.

 

***

 

“I don’t want you to feel pressured, Yuuri,” Riku-sensei reminded him as they were waiting for his turn in the short programme. “This is only your second international competition as a senior. Think of it as a chance to get a feel for the level and the intensity.”

“Yes, Sensei,” said Yuuri. He knew Riku-sensei was right. Nobody was really expecting anything of him. He had placed low in Skate America, and he was only allowed to skate in a second competition because Japan, as the host country, got to select three of the twelve entrants. But that wasn’t what was really at stake.

The area where the competitors were warming up was full of the usual tension and some unusual gossip. Yuuri had been right. Victor _was_ in the audience, and everyone was talking about it. A few of them had come up to ask Yuuri if he knew anything. He had brushed them off. “I don’t know. I don’t work with him now.”

When it was his turn, when he took his position out on the ice, he scanned the audience for the familiar ash-blond hair. There. He started his programme looking Victor dead in the eye.

_I’m not perfect, but at least I’m not a cheat like you._

With his heart pounding with anger and adrenaline, the routine seemed to go by twice as fast as usual, and yet he managed to keep up with the frantic pace of it. His reactions felt like lightning. He didn’t wobble on his edges. He didn’t falter on his jumps.

When he drew to a halt and looked into the audience, Victor was on his feet, grinning and clapping. Yuuri set his jaw against the effects of that smile.

In the kiss and cry, Riku-sensei met him with an unexpected hug.

“Good job, Yuuri! Very clean, very confident. I think you could be looking at a personal best.”

As they waited for the scores, Yuuri didn’t know what he wanted to happen. He wanted to show Victor he could succeed without magic, but, just as much, he wanted to show Victor that he would never choose to cheat, however badly he did. He would never take out his wand at a competition. He’d rather fail.

After the scores were read out (a personal best by four full points) Yuuri didn’t wait to see if Victor would come looking for him. He went straight back to the hotel and locked himself in his room. Exhausted, he slept long into the evening. It was shock to discover, from the congratulatory texts on his phone, that he had ended day one of a senior Grand Prix event in third place.

 

***

 

His theme that year was ‘Dreams’. Riku-sensei had done most of the choreography, but they’d picked the music together and talked a lot about what Yuuri wanted to communicate. The short programme was all about dreams in the abstract sense: unreality, contradictions, the unpredictable. The free skate was more personal. It was his hopes and dreams, his career, his future. At least, it usually was. Not this time.

This time, he could only think about the dreams he’d had when he was a boy.

_I hope he’ll notice me. If only he could be my friend._

Dreams of Victor that had grown and changed, the dreams brought on by his teenaged body and that forbidden glimpse of Victor and Chris. Dreams of being alive and in love, of Victor loving him back. Dashed dreams. Shattered hopes. Waking up.

He didn’t look at Victor after the music ended. He was shaking, close to tears, not entirely sure how the skate had gone. He didn’t remember touching down or miscalculating a rotation or messing up a move, but neither did he remember landing cleanly. He’d been too distracted, too wrapped up in his thoughts. Usually that was when he made his worst mistakes.

Riku-sensei’s expression was unreadable.

“I’ve never seen you skate like that before,” he said.

Yuuri wasn’t sure whether to say sorry or thank you, so he said nothing.

When the scores finally came in, he couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t just a personal best – it was wildly above his best ever score. The technical elements had been almost flawless, and the programme component score, unbelievably, was in the mid eighties. Up until then, nobody in the competition had scored above seventy-five.

He was in first place, with two more competitors to go.

Another skater took their turn. The score was good, but not good enough. Yuuri was still in first. Guaranteed silver. Then the last competitor, a sure candidate for the Grand Prix final. Another good skate. An overall score two points short of Yuuri’s.

Gold. He had just won gold in the NHK Trophy.

On the podium, he tried to muster up a smile. His mind was racing, trying to figure out how this could possibly have happened. The year before, he hadn’t even made it to the final of the Junior Grand Prix. In Skate America, he’d been at the tail end of the field. A gold medal in the NHK Trophy should have been far outside his grasp.

He’d achieved the unachievable. He hadn’t missed a single jump. Almost as though it had been impossible for him to fall. Almost like magic.

He hadn’t cast any kind of spell. He was sure of that. Magic was unpredictable, but he could control himself. For six solid years, he’d been trained to avoid using his magic accidentally. And if he hadn’t done this, there was only one person who could be responsible.

 

***

 

“Yuuri!”

It was Victor’s voice, behind him. That was good. Yuuri had been looking for him for the past five minutes. When he turned, he found Victor standing there, starkly lit under the bright artificial lights of the corridor. His smile was luminous.

“Wow! You were amazing!”

He sounded so proud. Proud of himself, of his magic, of his _cheating_.

“Why are you here?” said Yuuri.

“I was in town and I wanted to see you skate. Aren’t you pleased to see me?”

“Pleased?” said Yuuri disbelievingly. He felt himself bursting with emotion, too much to contain. “How could you?” he snapped. He felt as though the shout was ripped out of him, powered by all the anger that had been building up inside him.

“What?”

“You think I want to win by cheating?”

He was shaking. He could feel tears trickling down his cheeks.

Victor took a step back, astonishment on his face. “Yuuri, what are you talking about?”

“Magic! You helped me win with magic! Don’t pretend you didn’t.

“No! I would never-”

“You would! _I saw you!_ I saw what you did at Worlds.”

“Oh,” said Victor, barely more than a shocked little breath. He was staring at Yuuri like he’d never seen him before. It wasn’t surprising, really. How could Victor possibly know? He’d only ever seen starry-eyed little Yuuri, desperate to please, willing to do anything Victor ever asked of him.

“This gold medal is a lie,” Yuuri choked out through his tears. “You made me a lie, and you don’t even care. I’m just your toy. I always was. You p-p-put me on the ice and made me dance. Well it sucks! My first coach dumped me because I spent all my time practising for you! I had to leave my home and my family and my _dog_. And then you made me skate with you at Worlds and went on TV and said I’d be a World Champion. Do you know how that feels? I’m still in therapy, and it’s _your fault_.”

“Yuuri, I…” Victor began, shakily, as though he were in pain. He broke off, and just stood there staring, his mouth slightly open. His eyes were brimming with sparkling teardrops. Damn him, he even cried beautifully.

_I’m glad_ , Yuuri thought fiercely. _I’m glad it hurts. You deserve it._

“I don’t ever want to see you again,” he said.

Then his own tears got the better of him, and he turned and ran before he totally fell apart.

 

***

 

Yuuri took silver in nationals, with a much more believable score than he’d apparently achieved at the NHK Trophy. Not long afterwards, Riku-sensei sat him down for a serious conversation.

“You’re finishing high school in March,” he said. “I think you should take the opportunity to move on. You’ve proven what you’re capable of, but you’re still struggling to reach your potential consistently. I’ve taken you as far as I can.”

_This is your fault too_ , Yuuri told the Victor in his mind, even though he knew it wasn’t true. The NHK Trophy was just the catalyst for something that had been building up for a while. If Riku-sensei hadn’t brought it up, Yuuri would have had to pluck up his nerve and do it himself.

“You’ve been a wonderful coach to me, Sensei,” said Yuuri, keeping his voice as steady as he could. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for all you’ve done for me.”

“It’s been my pleasure. Training you has made me into a better coach. But you’re ready to move on?”

“Yes, Sensei.”

Riku-sensei was all about precision. Thanks to his training, Yuuri’s form was as close to perfect as it was ever likely to get. It was time for him to develop in other ways, to explore his connection with the music, and for that he would need guidance from someone new.

Riku-sensei nodded, unsurprised. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Do you have a coach in mind?”

“If I could have anyone…” the honest answer was that he wanted the style of training Yakov gave Victor, but there was no way he was going to be Victor’s rinkmate. America was more sensible anyway. He spoke barely any Russian, but after a constant diet of foreign TV and podcasts, he was pretty comfortable in English. “Celestino Cialdini, in Detroit.”

 “Ciao Ciao? Yes. I think he would be a good fit. Draft an email, and I’ll write you a recommendation letter to send with it. Not that you need it. He knows who you are. If he doesn’t have too many commitments to other pupils, there’s no question that he’ll take you on.”

 

***

 

It was about a month later. Yuuri was back in Tokyo after the Four Continents Championship, and had already started emailing with his potential new coach. He was feeling almost like he was moving on with his life, when his mother called him, unexpectedly, much later in the evening than she usually did.

“Your friend Victor is here,” she said.

“What?” said Yuuri. He honestly couldn’t understand what she meant. “Where? And he’s not my friend.”

“Here. With us at Yu-topia.”

“He can’t be!” said Yuuri, anger jumping fiercely into his chest. “He can’t, mom! Send him away.”

“No, Yuuri. I don’t care if you two have fallen out. That poor boy can stay as long as he likes.”

There was something about her voice that brought Yuuri up short. Carefully, not really sure he wanted to know the answer, he asked, “Why is he there?”

“A long time ago, when was very tired and sad, you brought him to Hasetsu. Being here helped him then. I think he’s looking for that again.” She gave a deep sigh. “Dearest, he just lost his mother.”

The Russian words floated through Yuuri’s mind: _Ochen' lyublyu tebya._

Even as his heart ached for Victor and for the laughing woman of his memories, part of him sat back as a cynical observer. He could see exactly what was happening. He’d thought that the past two years had destroyed his crush, his hero-worship and adoration, but this was all it took for him to drop everything and go running after Victor Nikiforov all over again.

“I’ll get the first flight I can,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end of this chapter, Yuuri finds out that Victor's mother has died. He doesn't learn any details, and there won't be a lot given later either, but later parts of the fic do deal with grief.
> 
> I didn't want to give spoilers, but I do realise that this is a topic that should be warned for. If there's anything I could have done better, please let me know.


	10. Hasetsu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments, guys, I certainly wouldn't have got this far without your encouragement. I think this story is gonna run to 14 chapters overall - the end is in sight!
> 
> This chapter deals with grief (obviously), as do later ones. If I've treated anything insensitively, please let me know.

The first hint of spring had come to Hasetsu, but the sea breeze on the beach was chill. Even at a distance, Yuuri could see that the figure walking along the tide line was wrapped up in a trench coat, one end of a red scarf flapping loose.

“Vicchan!” Yuuri called.

One of the two dogs that had been chasing each other along the beach looked up sharply, and then rocketed in Yuuri’s direction, speeding across the sand in a torrent of joyful barks. Yuuri crouched down so that Vicchan could greet him with ecstatic licks and a frenziedly wagging tail.

The other dog, a double-sized version of Vicchan, came trotting up to Yuuri, curious.

“Hello, Makkachin,” said Yuuri, letting the dog put sandy paws on his leg the better to investigate him. “Do you remember me?”

Makkachin wuffed, then gave Yuuri a soulful look and trotted back the way he’d come. Taking a deep breath, Yuuri followed, with Vicchan gambolling happily at his heels. Slowly he approached Victor, who was standing still now and watching him.

Beneath his sweep of hair, Victor had a sharp-cheekboned look that spoke of little food and not enough sleep. His nose was reddened a little. His eyes were red too, but not from the wind. Makkachin pressed against his leg, and he absently reached a hand down for the dog to lick. His gaze didn’t waver from Yuuri’s face.

“Victor,” said Yuuri. The wind gusted, tugging once again at Victor’s scarf, making the loose end dance. Yuuri’s voice was whisked away, and he fell silent. He didn’t know what to say.

The odd stalemate was broken by a quiet, mournful wuff. Makkachin took a mouthful of the hem of Victor’s coat and tugged, pulling Victor forward one surprised step. That was all it took. In another moment, Yuuri had closed the last few feet of distance, and pulled Victor into a hug. Victor felt stiff and awkward at first. Then, all at once, he hugged Yuuri in return, squeezing so hard it almost hurt. In an agonised little gasp, he said, “Yuuri, my _mama_.”

 

***

 

“I don’t have anyone else. Just Makkachin.”

Victor was lying on Yuuri’s bed, curled up around the two dogs. His head, resting on Yuuri’s thigh, was angled so that Yuuri could barely see his face behind his fall of hair.

 _You have me_ , Yuuri wanted to say. But he didn’t think it would be any kind of comfort. To Victor, he would be the poorest of substitutes.

“What am I supposed to do now?” said Victor, voice cracking. “She’s been sick for so long, and she needed me, and now there’s nothing left. I don’t know what to do.”

“Stay here with us. Stay as long as you like,” said Yuuri, echoing his mother’s words because he couldn’t find any of his own.

Victor raised his head enough that Yuuri could see one eye and a pale, tear-stained cheek. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “You’re skating in the World Championships in six weeks. You should be in Tokyo, training.”

Yuuri was silent. For a moment his mind was filled with the glimmering, distant, impossible vision of a World Championship medal, and the fierce thrill of victory he knew would come with it. He wanted a medal. He wanted to win. But he wasn’t good enough; he hadn’t made it near the podium in the Four Continents. Even if he could win, he could feel how sour the victory would be if he knew Victor was in Hasetsu, without even the meagre comfort Yuuri could offer him. He set his jaw, stubborn.

“I’m not leaving.”

“You should.”

“I’m not.”

Victor’s hand closed on Yuuri’s. He gave a little tug, then slid his head down onto the bed and reached around to awkwardly coax Yuuri to lie down beside him. They ended up curled close, Yuuri spooned up against Victor’s back with one arm tucked over him.

So quiet that it was almost inaudible, Victor said, “Thank you.”

 

***

 

The next day, still tense with the magnitude of his decision, Yuuri walked down to the rink with Victor trailing him like a tall, silent shadow. Makkachin was trailing Victor even closer, pressing comfortingly against his leg whenever they stopped at a crosswalk.

Victor had barely spoken since the day before. He didn’t want to talk, Yuuri’s mom said. He wanted quiet, and to walk with the dogs, and to be hugged.

When they got to Ice Castle, Yuuri found that Yuuko was behind the front desk.

“Yuuri! I didn’t know you were home. It’s so good to see you!” she said, beaming at him. Then she caught sight of Victor. Her hands flew to her mouth. “Ohmigosh,” she blurted.

“Hello,” said Victor, in a voice full of bright warmth and friendliness. “I’m Victor Nikiforov.”

Yuuri glanced over, surprised, and found himself faced with Victor’s most dazzling smile. It looked utterly genuine.

Yuuko switched to English instantly. “It’s wonderful to meet you! I’m a big fan. Yuuri and I used to watch all your routines! I was so sorry not to see you skate this year.”

“Well, injuries happen,” said Victor, with a shrug and another smile. “It’s all over now. I’ll be back on the ice next season. Today I just want to watch Yuuri skate. May we?”

“Of course! But… we don’t really allow dogs.”

“Makkachin won’t be any trouble,” said Victor, with heart-melting sincerity. “I promise.”

Yuuri could practically see the hearts in Yuuko’s eyes. “I guess I can make an exception,” she said. “Let me show you around Ice Castle!”

She opened the little gate beside the counter and stepped out. Yuuri gaped.

“You’re pregnant!”

“You didn’t know? Oh, Yuuri, we haven’t been very good at staying in touch, have we?” She bent, awkward with the swell of her belly, to pat Makkachin on the head. Makkachin raised a paw for her to shake, and she beamed again. “What a good dog!”

She gave Victor the tour, chattering away, pink-cheeked. Victor chatted back, with his signature brightness and enthusiasm. His smile never wavered once, until Yuko was back behind her desk. Then, as they turned away, the smile dropped off his face as though it had never existed.

Yuuri shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “You- uh, you don’t have to do that. To pretend.”

“Yes I do,” said Victor.

Yuuri bit his lip, but didn’t push it. “Are you coming on the ice?” he asked. The tail end of the morning’s public session was finishing up, and there was already plenty of space to practise.

Victor shook his head, spreading his empty hands. “I left my skates in my room.”

“We can transfigure some-”

“ _No_.”

There was something sharp in his voice. Yuuri flinched, his hand jerking away from the pocket where he kept his wand.

“I’ll watch you,” said Victor, more softly. “You’re the one with a season to finish.”

Yuuri nodded and went to get changed.

By the time he was ready to skate, the ice was all his own. He took a few lazy turns around the rink, trying to put Victor’s presence out of his mind. He was there to practise, not to impress. As he began to work in earnest, going over some of the jumps and step sequences from his programmes, he focused on his body, his posture, his balance, finding the perfect angle of his blades for each move. Riku-sensei’s training stood up to the test. Every jump was clean. He ran through them again, pushing for height. When he finally came to a stop, he was panting and pleased with himself.

Finally letting himself recollect his observer, he skated over to the rinkside where Victor was standing.

“You’re sure you don’t want to skate? I bet I could beat you at tag now.”

“No,” Victor said. “Yuuri, you shouldn’t be here playing tag. You should be in Tokyo, training for Worlds.”

The vision of that medal danced in front of Yuuri’s eyes again, but he stood firm.

“I told you, I’m not leaving. I can train here. I don’t need a coach, I know what I’m doing.”

Victor tilted his head, considering. After a moment, he appeared to come to a decision. “You have a coach,” he said. “I’ll coach you.”

Yuuri hesitated. There were a lot of things he could have said to that. First and foremost: _You’re twenty-two years old and you’ve never even tried to coach before._ But there was a flicker of real interest in Victor’s eyes, and that was worth a lot.

“O-okay.”

“Okay,” said Victor. Suddenly, every line of his body was focussed and businesslike. “Run through your short programme.”

Still somewhat off-balance from the sudden change, Yuuri skated back to the centre of the rink. Again, he buckled down, putting his uncertainty out of his mind as he waited for the music to start.

He gave Victor a full run-through of the short programme, all jumps in place. He was even more pleased with his performance this time. He didn’t make a single mistake.

When he skated back over, chest heaving from the effort, Victor was standing at the side of the rink with his arms folded across his chest. “You’ve got a lot of work to do,“ he said. “That was terrible.”

Yuuri felt his face fall. “I landed all my jumps,” he protested, once he had enough air.

Victor shook his head. “You’ve changed. When I first saw you skate you could barely land a double, but you were beautiful. Now, you’re…” he said the word as though it was dirty, “… _proficient_. You can be so much more. When you skated at the NHK Trophy, _that_ was the real Yuuri Katsuki.”

“But…” Yuuri began. He paused and swallowed nervously. “That was you.”

It was the first time either of them had mentioned their last meeting.

Victor’s chin tilted up. He looked very much the haughty young prince. “If you think so, it says more about you than it does about me,” he said. His voice was calm but his eyes were flashing with anger. “I’ve changed my mind. I can’t coach you. Come back and talk to me when you believe in yourself.”

“Victor!”

“I did not cheat for you!” said Victor. He snapped his fingers to call Makkachin over from the stands. “I’m going to the beach. You can stay here and be proficient on your own.”

 

***

 

Yuuri didn’t stay to skate. He went to talk to Yuuko and heard all about her pregnancy with triplets. Then he mooched his way over to Minako’s studio to say hello and admit that, yes, Victor Nikiforov was in town, but she absolutely was not allowed to come and stare at him.

After that, he’d pretty much run out of distractions.

Sitting on his favourite park bench, looking out over Hasetsu, he turned his performance at the NHK Trophy over in his mind. It had been an unbelievable score, for him. True, it had only been two points above the silver medallist, which wasn’t exactly a mindblowing performance. Victor on top form would have made him look like an amateur. But… well, it had still won him the gold medal. And he was just Yuuri Katsuki. He couldn’t possibly have won the NHK Trophy all on his own. Could he?

He hadn’t made a single mistake… but that was believable. He skated his routines cleanly in practice more often than not, he just couldn’t always replicate it in competition. But the high performance score was just not like him.

And yet, until a couple of years ago he’d always relied on his performance scores to make up for his failed jumps. People had remarked on his musicality, even when he lost. He’d been… well… perhaps he’d been something special. Victor had always said he was something special.

Yuuri scuffed his feet against the patchy grass as he thought. It was a chilly day. Even with his coat and scarf, he was cold enough that he had his arms wrapped around himself. He wondered whether Victor was still at the beach, or if he’d gone back to the onsen and was soaking his long, too-thin body in the hot spring. At Ice Castle he had seemed honestly angry, affronted that Yuuri would accuse him of cheating. It was ridiculous, when Yuuri was completely certain that he’d cheated at Worlds. But when Yuuri thought back to that confrontation after the NHK Trophy medal ceremony, he realised that Victor had never denied cheating at Worlds. The only thing he’d denied was cheating for Yuuri.

All of a sudden, Yuuri believed him.

 

***

 

According to Yuuri’s mother, Victor had come back a while earlier and gone straight to his room. Yuuri climbed the stairs nervously, not quite sure what reception he would get. When he got to the top, he hesitated. Through the slightly-open door to the first bedroom, he could hear Victor talking in sharp, angry Russian. While Yuuri still knew very little Russian, he could pick out _Yakov_ and _nyet_ and _Sankt-Peterburg_. It was enough to tell him that Yakov wanted Victor to go home, and Victor wasn’t having it.

“Do svidaniya!” snapped Victor. Yuuri flinched at the sudden clatter of something being thrown across the room. Then there was silence.

After few beats, Yuuri tapped cautiously on the door.

“Victor?”

“What?”

“Can I come in?”

There was a muffled grunt. Yuuri crept into the room. Victor was lying on his stomach on the bed, his face entirely hidden in the pillow. His phone was lying against the far wall, dark-screened but not obviously damaged.

“Was that Yakov?”

“Yes” said Victor, still mostly muffled by pillow. “He keeps calling. I don’t want to talk to him. What do you want, Yuuri?”

“I won the NHK Trophy.”

Victor pushed himself up on his hands. He looked rumpled and tired, but his eyes were curious. “Yes,” he said.

“I won gold.” The concept was still difficult to grasp, but he tried to inject certainty into his voice. “I did it on my own.”

“Yes,” said Victor, more forcefully.

“I’m a world class figure skater. I could be a champion.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll help me?”

Victor was smiling. “Of course I will. You could be amazing, Yuuri. You _should_ be amazing.”

“Not better than you.”

Victor tilted his head thoughtfully. “No…” he said. “No, I don’t think you could be better than me. But I think you could beat me.”

For a few seconds, they just sat and grinned at each other. Then Yuuri felt his smile fade. Wary but determined, he said, “You didn’t cheat for me. But did you cheat for yourself?” He held Victor’s gaze. “I need to know, Victor.”

Victor dropped his head. “Once,” he said, in a small, shaky voice. “Yuuri, I swear – I _swear_ it was only once. Mama was getting sicker every day, and I just… I was tired.” His hair hung over his face, but Yuuri could see when the first tear fell to the bedspread, leaving a tiny, damp mark. “That whole year I didn’t have time to train properly. I kept losing, and then it was Worlds and I had to win us those Olympic spots. I had to. It felt so good, skating without being afraid of falling. But when I was standing there on the podium with the medal I didn’t deserve, I knew I could never do it again.” He sniffed, wiping awkwardly at his eyes beneath his fall of hair. “Mama apologised to me afterwards,” he said, his voice dropping even quieter. “She said she was sorry she’d distracted me from training, that she knew I could’ve won fairly if I hadn’t spent half my time with her or… or looking for cures. Yakov… he… he told me he’d never been so ashamed of a student in his life.” He choked on another sob. “I need tissues.”

Yuuri hastily grabbed the box from his nightstand. For a while, he sat and petted Victor’s hair while Victor snuffled into the tissues. Then, when Victor was still, he prompted, “Looking for cures? Medical cures, or magical cures?”

Victor raised his head. His tears weren’t beautiful, sparkling drops now; he was wet-faced and messy. “Both,” he said. “I tried everything I could think of. I talked to the best doctors and the best healers. The people who offered medical miracles, they were all liars and frauds. Magical – everyone told me the same. The spells for curing muggle diseases were all destroyed, and it’s illegal to research or record anything about them. But I was sure someone would have broken that law, somewhere. Someone would have rediscovered the spells or created new cures. I thought I found a healer who had, once. In Colombia. But by the time I got there, the local Ministry had obliviated her. She could barely remember her own name.”

Yuuri swallowed. He knew that if Victor had got to the witch before the Ministry, and had actually asked her for the treatment, he could have been charged with the crime and obliviated too. There was no point in saying anything. It wasn’t as though Victor might do it again; he had nobody left to lose.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead.

“After Worlds, Mama said she wanted me to win Olympic gold. So I did. I worked for it. I put everything into my skating. I barely saw her for months. And now… I’d give anything to have those months back. I’d give every medal I ever won.”

He flopped down on the bed, hiding his face in the pillow again. His breathing was shaky as he tried to hold in his sobs. Yuuri did the only thing he knew how to do, and lay down too, spooning himself against Victor’s back and tucking an arm over him. Victor’s hand came up to grasp his. They lay there together until Victor’s tight, choked breathing loosened. Finally Victor sighed and rolled over to face Yuuri.

“Why are you so good to me?” he asked, as though he honestly didn’t understand.

Yuuri didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to explain that Victor was the most wonderful, magical person he’d ever known. He’d loved Victor’s smile before he’d ever learned his name, and loved his warmth and brightness and brilliance from their first awkward meeting. Victor’s shockingly blue eyes were gazing into his. Their faces were close enough that Yuuri could feel the soft warmth of Victor’s breath. Not believing his own daring, but utterly unable to resist the impulse, he craned forward and pressed his mouth clumsily against Victor’s.

Victor kissed him back.

It felt so natural, so easy. Victor’s arms went around him, and Yuuri breathed in the soft, pleased chuckle that Victor made. Kissing was entirely new to him, and it was even better than he had imagined, sweet and soft, warmth building to heat as Victor explored his mouth and tasted his skin.

“Wow,” murmured Victor, between kisses.

Yuuri gasped, losing himself in each touch of Victor’s lips. Victor’s hands roamed down his body, sliding along the small of his back, then cupping his ass and pulling him closer, and _oh,_ he wanted it so much. He couldn’t help the moan that slipped out, surprised and pleading, begging for more.

Victor drew back. Yuuri’s eyes flew open. Victor’s lips were kiss-reddened and his pupils were huge, but his face was concerned. His hands left Yuuri’s ass abruptly. He brushed his thumb gently across Yuuri’s cheek, and asked, “Have you ever had a lover?”

Yuuri flushed. “N-no.”

“Kak zhal',” murmured Victor. He gave his head a gentle shake. “You deserve better than this. I’d just be… taking comfort in you. I’d be taking advantage.”

“Please don’t stop,” said Yuuri, first in Japanese, and then again in English. “Please, Victor, kiss me.”

“Yuuri,” said Victor softly. “I haven’t forgotten what you said at the NHK Trophy. You had to leave your home because of me. You’re in therapy because of me. Now you’ve left your coach just before Worlds because of me. I do nothing but take advantage of you. Not this too. I think you should go.”

“No,” said Yuuri desperately. “Tokyo was good! Therapy is good, I need it! I have my medication, my anxiety is better. I said those things because I was angry. I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes, you did.” Victor sat up, shifting away entirely. He smiled, reaching out to touch Yuuri’s cheek again. “You’re so lovely,” he said, “but I can’t.”

Yuuri sagged. He wanted to cry, but not now, not when he had to walk out of Victor’s room, rejected and miserable, and go down through the onsen pretending that everything was okay, that he hadn’t just had the most intense sexual experience of his admittedly inexperienced life.

“You’ll still coach me?” he said, knowing how pathetic he sounded.

Victor’s smile turned teasing. He leaned in once more to steal a quick kiss. “It would be my pleasure,” he said.

Yuuri found himself outside the door, body still tingling from Victor’s closeness, chest aching with confused yearning. Behind him, there was a patter of small feet. Makkachin trotted past him and scraped at the door with one paw. After a moment, the door opened just enough to let Makkachin slink inside. Vicchan gave Yuuri’s feet a brief sniff, then followed. The door closed behind the two of them with a soft click.

“Now you’re taking my dog?” yelled Yuuri at the blank woodwork.

He hadn’t realised it was possible to love someone quite so much and simultaneously have a burning desire to kick their ass.


	11. Coach Victor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there are now officially 14 chapters. I can't believe I'm actually close to finishing this thing. Y'all have been SO WONDERFUL with your feedback and encouragement.
> 
> There's a bit of French dialogue in this one - corrections very welcome, as usual! Translations at the end.

 

Yuuri spent the night alternately lying awake in a welter of confusion, and falling into a fitful sleep populated entirely by Victor, sometimes clothed, sometimes naked, but always sliding his hands over Yuuri’s ass and pulling him close so that their bodies slotted together _just right._ When he dragged himself out of bed the next morning, he had no idea how he was going to face Victor at the breakfast table, let alone get through an entire day of training. Shamefully, he was almost glad that Victor started the day cloaked in sadness again, distant and distracted, occasionally snappish. Even though it hurt to see Victor’s grief, it was easier to process than Victor all soft and warm and smiling.

Before heading down to the rink for practice, Yuuri pulled his mother aside for a talk.

“I’m staying here until Worlds. Victor’s going to coach me.”

Her face fell. “Oh, Yuuri,” she said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. What about your exams?”

“I can sit them here.”

“Well, what about your skating? You’ve been doing so well with Riku-sensei.”

“I’m nothing special with Riku-sensei. I want more than that; I wouldn’t be going to Detroit if I didn’t. Maybe Victor can’t help me, but I’m going to try my best.”

“You don’t owe him anything, sweetie. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know,” said Yuuri firmly.

His mother sighed and left it at that. Yuuri was grateful. The conversation hadn’t gone as badly as he’d feared. Of course, he still had to tell Riku-sensei. He had a feeling that wouldn’t be quite so easy.

 

***

 

Victor perked up when they reached the rink. He’d brought his skates this time, and while his movements on the ice were a little stiff, a little rusty, he looked like he was back where he belonged. He was beautiful, with his long, sleek lines and his astonishing grace. During his absence, the whole skating world had missed him.

He ran Yuuri quickly through a few jumps, watching with a critical eye and a slight, pleased smile. Yuuri dared to think that it was approval. He knew he was solid on his jumps, even his two quads. The lutz and Victor’s signature flip were still beyond him, but he could land the sal cleanly on most tries.

Finally, Victor seemed satisfied. “Alright,” he said, “We’ll work more on your form later, but there’s not too much wrong. Now let’s get to the important part.  What were you thinking about during your free skate at the NHK Trophy?”

 _You, you complete idiot_ , Yuuri almost blurted, but he swallowed the words and flailed around for his original intentions. “Um… I was thinking about my dreams! For – you know. Being a champion.”

“Well, you’re not connecting with it most of the time.”

“I do connect with it,” Yuuri protested. “It’s all about me.”

“You’re thinking too simply,” said Victor, shaking his head. He widened his feet to spin in a quick, tight circle. “How can I explain…? I know! Remember the season I used Enchantment for my free skate? Of course you do! Well, it wasn’t _about_ me; there was an even stronger connection. Do you know what it was?”

“Um… no?”

“That summer, after Mama got diagnosed – back then, they thought she’d get better, but I was still so scared of being left alone, so I would skate Enchantment to feel like you were there with me on the ice. I connected with it because it made me feel like I had a friend. When I realised that, I knew it was the routine that would win me the World Championships that season. You’d be there with me on the ice, like you were at the Hogwarts show. Yakov wanted to strangle me for scrapping his choreography right before the first Grand Prix event, but it was the right thing to do.”

Yuuri felt his chest constricting. He couldn’t relate Victor’s words to his dream routine – couldn’t think about anything but Victor, lonely and scared, skating Enchantment the way that he himself had skated it, over and over, reaching out for the companionship of the missing dancer.

“Yuuri?”

Victor had skated that routine thinking of him. Every time, during every winning performance, Victor had been thinking of him.

“Yuuri, are you crying?”

“No,” said Yuuri, turning his face away.

“Yes, you are,” said Victor. “I don’t know what to do when people cry. Should I hug you? You always hug me.”

“No!” Yuuri yelped. He was struggling enough already, _wanting_ Victor the whole time. He couldn’t think of anything worse, when his emotions were already raw, than having Victor’s arms around him and knowing that Victor had skated Enchantment because of him.

“We’ve hardly even started and I made you cry,” said Victor, sounding bewildered and almost huffy about it. “Yuuri, you should go back to Tokyo.”

“I’m not leaving,” said Yuuri grimly. “I’m fine. Can we focus on my short programme first?”

“If that’s what you want,” said Victor, pouting a little. “Tell me about it. Why did you choose it?”

Yuuri wrenched his mind firmly back to the process of working on the programme with Riku. “Um… I guess I chose the theme first – dreams. I knew what I wanted to do for the free skate. I didn’t really have anything in mind for the short programme. Riku-sensei suggested the music. We talked about what I heard in it, and we took it from there.”

“Okay. Tell me what you heard.”

“The music is like dreams,” Yuuri began, trying hard to simplify concepts like ‘transformative’ and ‘nebulous’ into everyday English he knew. “It changes from one thing to another. In dreams… the rules don’t work. Everything’s surprising, impossible, but it feels natural because you’re dreaming. The routine is unpredictable but feels natural.” He ducked his head awkwardly. “I guess there isn’t a real personal connection. Sorry.”

Victor’s face was almost blank. “You weren’t paying attention to your own thoughts,” he said.

“What?”

“No connection?” He gave a slightly bitter laugh. “It isn’t about dreams, Yuuri. Think of a world where the rules don’t apply, where one thing can change into another, where the impossible feels natural.”

“You mean… the wizarding world?”

“Yes,” said Victor, and abruptly spun on his blades and sped away to the other end of the rink.

Yuuri stood there blankly for a moment or two before following.

“Victor? What’s wrong? What did I do?”

Victor hunched away, unwilling to look at him. “I don’t want to coach a programme about the wizarding world,” he said.

“What? Why not?”

“I don’t want anything to do with it. I don’t do magic anymore. I burned my wand. I broke it in pieces and I burned it.”

“Y-you…” Yuuri stuttered, “you _burned_ it?”

“Yes. After Mama died.”

“But it’s your wand!”

“I don’t want it!” snapped Victor. “They could’ve saved her. _Wizards_. They destroyed the spells that could have saved her. If we lived four hundred years ago, before the Statute of Secrecy, I could’ve gone out and bought a spellbook and cured her myself. They let people die because they’re scared. I’m done with it. I’d rather be a muggle. I’m never casting a spell again.”

“But-“ Yuuri began, and then silenced himself. “I don’t have to make my programme about magic,” he said, swallowing his uncertainty. “I don’t think it’s about magic anyway. It’s about dreams. You’re… you’re wrong.”

Victor gave another humourless laugh. “I’m not wrong,” he said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m your coach now. It’s my job to help you skate your best. How I feel isn’t important.”

“Victor…”

“I want you to skate your programme through,” Victor said, suddenly brisk and composed. “Downgrade the jumps, just focus on the meaning. You’re not a dreamer, Yuuri; you’re a wizard.”

“I… o-okay.”

Yuuri made his way to the centre of the ice. As he came to stillness, he heard the first chords of Enchantment echoing through his mind. His head was full of Victor’s performances. It was a struggle to remember the first pose of his short programme. He forced himself into it just in time as Victor started the music.

As he began to move, he mouthed the word, “Magic,” trying to focus the way Victor had told him. For the first few seconds, he couldn’t grasp it at all. He knew he was skating the programme the same way he always had. There seemed no way to make his ethereal, dreamlike programme about the wizarding world, which was school and homework and faintly unsettling ethics and… and the soft glow from the tip of his wand, hidden inside the shade of his bedside light.

 _I burned my wand_ , Victor had said. With a shiver of horror, Yuuri thought of his own beautiful, beloved ebony and silver wand burning. He faltered on his blades and, in desperation, imagined the wand safe in his hand.

And… that was it.

Everything fell into place. Every gesture was different. Here, going into this spin – a charm to move the whole world around. There, where the music shifted like falling water – that was transfiguration. He flicked his imaginary wand and cast his spells and drew his power around him.

In dreams, the world was out of control. In this routine, he, Yuuri, was in control. It was no dream. It was magic.

He came to a stop, dazed and thrilled. The programme felt right in a way it never had before. Suddenly he liked it twice as much. He wanted to sit down with Victor, pull it apart, and put it back together just a little different. In his mind, he was already pinpointing changes he wanted to suggest.

Victor was standing at the edge of the rink, head bowed. As Yuuri came closer, he could see that Victor was holding the barrier so tightly his knuckles were white.

“Victor…?”

“That’s it,” said Victor quietly. That’s how you’ll skate it at Worlds.”

The lovesick part of Yuuri wanted to protest, to argue that he wouldn’t skate in a way Victor didn’t like. For once, that part was instantly silenced.

“I’ll be the most powerful wizard you’ve ever seen,” he said.

 

***

 

Late that afternoon, when his classmates were packing up their magic textbooks and making their way to the wall of crystals, Yuuri hung back to talk to Professor McGonagall.

“May I ask you a question, Professor?”

She looked down her nose at him, which he took as permission to continue.

“What happens if a wizard or witch stops using magic?”

“What happens?” she said, flicking her wand behind her as she spoke to clean the chalk from the blackboard. “Nothing happens, Mr Katsuki, except that they’ll be rusty if they ever start again. I dare say it’s the same as what happens if you stop skating.”

“So it’s not… bad for them?”

“Well,” said the professor, “that depends on why they stopped, doesn’t it?” She turned away. “Run along, Mr Katsuki. And do give Mr Nikiforov my regards.”

Yuuri didn’t ask how she knew, and he didn’t say that Victor wouldn’t want her regards, or even to hear her name. Instead, he said a polite goodbye and went home, wrapped up in his thoughts.

 

***

 

Worlds crept up on them quickly. One minute, Yuuri was practising his jumps and determinedly not thinking about Victor whenever he ran through his free skate. The next, Victor was crouching down to hug Makkachin goodbye, murmuring “Bud' khoroshey sobachkoy,” with his face half buried in curly brown fur.

Their journey to Nice was interminable. They had short stopovers in Tokyo and Dubai, only enough time for Yuuri to grab some tea and stretch his legs. Victor apparently had a natural ability to sleep on planes. He dozed comfortably with his head on Yuuri’s shoulder the whole way, only waking up to eat, and ended the journey looking refreshed and energised. Yuuri, on the other hand, spent the flights trying and failing to put the competition out of his mind. He arrived punch-drunk with fatigue, and staggered into the hotel feeling overwhelmed by the world, longing for darkness and quiet.

He was not remotely prepared to run into Chris Giacometti in the corridor outside their room.

Chris stopped in his tracks when he saw them. “Victor!” he said. “Que se passe-t-il?” Then, ignoring Yuuri completely, he swooped forward and swept Victor into a hug. “Victor, je suis désolé.”

In Japan, Yuuri had got used to thinking of Victor as tall, but Chris was actually a fraction taller. They looked good together, Yuuri’s exhaustion-muddled brain registered. Chris could envelop Victor in his arms in a way Yuuri couldn’t. They looked natural, mirror images, one silvery-pale, one golden.

“C'est bon de te voir, petit,” said Victor. He leaned back a little and looked into Chris’s face with fond eyes.

Chris tilted his head and pressed forward, offering his mouth for a kiss.

Yuuri stiffened. He couldn’t breathe.

Victor gave Yuuri a quick, sideways glance. He shook his head slightly and brought a finger up against his lips, blocking Chris’s access. “Non, Christophe,” he said.

Yuuri recognised that move. He’d seen it before, during his childhood, when his father drew his mother in for something more than a peck on the lips, and she laughed and said, “Not in front of the children.”

For a moment, Chris looked surprised. Then his eyes flicked over to Yuuri and back, and he broke into a teasing grin. “Ah, tu avais quelqu'un d'autre pour te tenir compagnie,” he said. “Est-ce que Yuuri te traite mieux que moi? Est-ce l'amour?”

“Je ne sais pas encore.”

Even without understanding a word, Yuuri would happily have shoved Victor into their room and slammed the door in Chris’s face. He barely managed to unclench his fists. He thought maybe his nails had left marks in his palms.

“Hello, Yuuri,” said Chris, finally releasing Victor and deigning to notice him. “Look at you, all grown up.” He turned back to Victor. “But what are you doing here, Victor? Of all the places to reappear – Worlds, and with this little cutie.”

“I’m his coach!” said Victor, with much of the buoyancy Yuuri had always associated him with.

“His _coach?_ You?” said Chris. “Excuse me, I need to go and tell every skater in Nice.”

“Tell them we’re taking gold.”

“You can try,” said Chris, laughing. “I do have to go – I’m late. But I’ll be back soon! We’ll get dinner.” He made to move past them, then paused and reached out to touch Victor’s shoulder. “Je suis profondément désolé pour ta perte.”

“Merci.”

“À bientôt, Coach Victor!”

 

***

 

“We’ll meet Chris and the others after we’ve showered,” said Victor once they were inside their room.

Yuuri’s stomach sank. He shook his head. “I just want to sleep.”

“ _Yuu-_ ri, come out to dinner. I’m your coach, and I say you’re coming with us.”

“I’ll order room service,” Yuuri said. He didn’t look up as he unpacked his washbag and pyjamas and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. It was four in the afternoon. He didn’t care. As soon as he was done in the bathroom he climbed into the left-hand twin bed and closed his eyes.

“Yuuri?” said Victor. He poked gently at Yuuri’s side through the duvet. “You really don’t want to come? Okay… I’ll order you something. Don’t forget to eat!”

Yuuri tried to sleep. He didn’t want to listen to Victor taking a shower and then pottering around the room, probably wearing nothing but a towel, as he did some unpacking and selected an outfit. He didn’t want to listen to the quiet, one-sided French phone conversation, and he especially didn’t want to listen to the door closing softly behind Victor as he went out.

At some point after that he must have slept, because he came dazedly awake at the knock from room service. He must have eaten, too. He was aware of stumbling back to bed with a vague feeling of fullness, and falling back into a half-doze where dreams of falling on the ice and Victor’s disappointed face mingled with the gnawing worry that he’d forgotten to tip the server who delivered the food. Occasionally he roused enough to check the time on his phone. Eight. Ten. Eleven-thirty, and the other bed was still empty.

The next time he woke, it was to Victor’s voice.

“Yuuri? Yuuri, can I sleep here with you?”

He could barely make out the figure in the dark, but he could hear a particular note in Victor’s voice, familiar from those early days in Hasetsu when Victor had just wanted to be held.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Victor bent over the bed to pull back the covers and slipped into the too-narrow space beside Yuuri. He lay with his back pressed to Yuuri’s front and pulled Yuuri’s arm over his waist. He didn’t say anything else.

Yuuri kept silent too. He lay with his face pressed into the back of Victor’s neck, listening as Victor’s breathing grew even and deep. According to his therapist, he was supposed to acknowledge and accept his emotions.

 _I’m jealous_ , he admitted inside his head.

_Sometimes I almost hate you._

And, inescapably, _I’m scared._

***

 

When he woke next, it was to an empty space in the bed, a shaft of sunlight through the curtains, and the oppressive realisation that there was only one day left until the short programme.

“Yuuri! You’re finally awake!”

“What time is it?” Yuuri asked into the pillow.

“Just after six,” said Victor, far too cheerfully. “It’s the afternoon already in Japan, lazy. Let’s go out for breakfast.”

“Go with Chris,” muttered Yuuri.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

Victor hummed thoughtfully. “I wonder who knows a good breakfast place in Nice. Should I ask Twitter?”

Yuuri rolled over. “No!” he snapped.

He knew how Victor’s thousands of avid Twitter followers operated, and he could guess exactly what would happen if Victor asked for a restaurant recommendation after months of radio silence. There would be an uproar. He and Victor would inevitably be swarmed by reporters at the rink, but he really didn’t need to be mobbed by Victor’s fans over breakfast. Despite doing nothing but sleep since the previous afternoon, he suddenly felt exhausted. If he were with Riku-sensei, he wouldn’t have to wonder what would happen next, or worry that he’d be thrust into difficulties on his coach’s whim. He and Riku-sensei’s other students would be the absolute priority. There would be no distractions, just calm preparation, with everything under control.

He reached for his glasses on the nightstand, but they weren’t there. Irritated, he opened his mouth to ask Victor to help him look. Then he snapped it closed again and fumbled his wand out of the nightstand drawer.

“ _Accio_ glasses.”

He put them on, and dared to meet Victor’s eyes.

Victor’s face was pinched, shocked. “Don’t do that,” he said.

“Why not?” said Yuuri. He could feel right hand trembling, clenched tight around the wand. “I’m a wizard. I’m not going to stop being one just because you want me to.” He flicked his wand again and again, opening the curtains, levitating a robe out of the closet to settle around his shoulders, starting the shower running in the bathroom, summoning a set of clothes and smoothing the creases out of them.

The door slammed behind Victor.

 

***

 

Yuuri ate his buffet breakfast alone in the corner of the hotel restaurant, hunching his shoulders and doing his best not to be noticed by anyone. A couple of skaters, familiar from other competitions, smiled or waved at him. He ignored them. He scrolled through feeds on his phone, barely seeing them, while he picked disinterestedly at his randomly-chosen collection of fruit, cheese, meats and pastries.

The phone didn’t ring. No new messages.

So far, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to call or text. He couldn’t bear to hear Chris’s voice in the background, or to think of Victor reading his message out loud.

Just as he was trying, once again, to force himself to pick up the phone, Chris walked past the table. He stopped, grinned, and pulled out one of the chairs, spinning it around so he could straddle it and lean his forearms on the back.

“Good morning, Yuuri,” he said.

“G-good morning.”

“We missed you at dinner! Everyone was dying to get to know you better. You and Victor will be the biggest story of the competition.”

Right then, Yuuri couldn’t even begin to think about that. “Where’s Victor?” he said. He wasn’t sure how he’d intended his voice to sound, but certainly not as small and lost as it came out.

Chris cocked his head. “I haven’t seen him since last night, gorgeous. Didn’t he go back to your room?”

“Yes. I mean, he did.”

“And now he’s left you all alone?” said Chris, with a disapproving tut. “How shocking!” He gestured to one of the large tables at the other side of the restaurant, where half a dozen young men and women were eating their breakfast amid a buzz of conversation. “You must join us, we’d _love_ to have you.”

Yuuri swallowed. Something about Chris’s smirk was deeply unsettling. Luckily, at that moment his phone buzzed with a new message. He grabbed for it hastily.

_I’ll meet you at the rink at practice time._

“No! Um- that’s okay. I-I have to go,” Yuuri stammered, and bolted.

 

***

 

He took a cab to the rink and made his way through to the changing rooms, huddled in his jacket, head down, trying not to be noticed. He changed quickly. The familiar practice clothes and skates made him feel just a little bit better.

When he got to the rinkside, Victor was easy to spot. He was the centre of a little cluster of people, holding court, all smiles and glowing enthusiasm as he chattered away.

A heavy hand fell on Yuuri’s shoulder. He jumped and spun around.

“Yakov-sensei!”

“Yuuri,” said Yakov shortly. He turned towards the little crowd. “Vitya, idi syuda!”

Victor detached himself from the group. As he walked towards them the smile vanished from his face. Suddenly he looked much smaller, much younger, and uncertain.

“You’re both as foolish as each other,” said Yakov said to Yuuri. “He has no business being a coach, especially not now. He should be using this time to think about his own needs. But he’s taken responsibility for you, and he has to see it through.” Then, as Victor arrived, Yakov fixed him with a stern look. “No selfishness this time, Vitya. It’s all about Yuuri from now on.”

Victor was hanging his head. “Yuuri, let’s go somewhere quiet,” he said.

He led Yuuri away to a corner of the corridor beyond the changing rooms. He squared his shoulders and met Yuuri’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m your coach and I should be doing whatever I can to help you. I thought I knew that, but as soon as it got hard I walked away. You’ll be skating a programme about magic tomorrow. Of course you need to use it.”

Yuuri stared. Victor looked so ashamed. It was like looking in a mirror to the past, seeing his own face after every failed competition.

“I didn’t do it to help me with my programme,” he blurted.

Victor blinked. For a moment the silence stretched between them. Then, gently prompting, he said, “Yuuri?”

“I-I was angry. I didn’t want you to go out last night. I did magic to hurt you,” said Yuuri. He was trembling. He could hear his voice wavering. “I’m sorry, Victor.”

Victor looked confused. “You said you just wanted to sleep,” he said. “I didn’t think you needed me.”

“I didn’t need you. But… I didn’t want you to be with Chris.”

Victor’s mouth formed an O of surprise. Then his whole face softened. All of a sudden, Yuuri found himself enveloped in a hug. Instinctively, he hugged back. He pressed his face into Victor’s shoulder and breathed out a shuddering sigh.

“Yuuri, what do you think happened between me and Chris last night?”

“I…” Yuuri stuttered, glad Victor couldn’t see his face. He could feel himself blushing. “Uh, you didn’t see him for a long time. I thought… you wanted to be alone with him. To…”

“We went to dinner and drinks with six friends, and then he bought me ice cream and caught me up on all the best skating gossip. I asked you to come with us. I wanted you there,” said Victor. He relaxed his hold, but stayed close, reaching up to cup Yuuri’s cheek. His eyes were soft and just a little teasing. “You thought I went to Chris’s room, had some _alone time_ , and then came back and climbed into bed with you?”

“I don’t know,” said Yuuri miserably. He looked down at his feet, feeling like an idiot.

“Of course I didn’t. I’m here to be your coach, not fool around with old flames.”

Yuuri took a deep breath. He knew he had no right to tell Victor who to date or otherwise, just like Victor had no right to tell him whether or not he could do magic.

“Chris is a friend,” said Victor. “That’s all.”

“O-okay.”

“Okay,” said Victor, beaming at him. “Come on! You’ve got some practising to do.”

 

***

 

It was a good practice session. Victor was at his brightest and most encouraging, clapping his hands and calling out, “Wow!” and, “Amazing!” whenever Yuuri landed a jump just right. Even his admonishments had a hint of sweetness to them. Yuuri left the ice breathless and optimistic. He was still smiling as he warmed down and got changed.

When he got back to the rinkside he discovered Victor in the middle of another little crowd. This one seemed to be composed of reporters. Victor was leaning against the barrier in a carelessly beautiful pose, hands moving expansively as he gave his impromptu interview. The reporters were hanging on every word.

Yuuri hung back, unwilling to face the crowd. He glanced around for a spot where he could watch without being seen, and saw Yakov standing by the wall.  Yakov spotted him too, and beckoned him over.

They stood together for a little while, watching while Victor talked and laughed and glowed for his audience.

“You’ve given him another chance to surprise people,” said Yakov.

“I think it’s helping him,” said Yuuri, uncertainly. “He needs something to do.”

“He loved her very much,” said Yakov. “I’m glad he has a project to help him recover. But I wish you weren’t involved. I warned you a long time ago that he doesn’t know how to think about other people. You didn’t listen. This isn’t going to end well, Yuuri.”

“Shut up,” snapped Yuuri.

He was even more surprised than Yakov. He couldn’t believe he’d actually said it. But he had, and the words kept on bubbling out of him.

“Stop saying he’s selfish. You don’t know how hard he worked to coach me. He’s… _inspirational_. He always was. You saw when we skated Enchantment together at the gala, when everyone said I was amazing. _He_ taught me that.  I’m a good skater, Yakov-sensei. I don’t need him to teach me technique. I need to connect with my programmes.” He raised his chin, defiant. “Did you see my performances this year?”

Yakov was frowning at him, surprise still clear on his face. “I’ve watched the international competitions, yes. The NHK Cup was impressive.”

“And the others?”

“Proficient,” said Yakov, with a hint of Victor’s distaste at the word.

“Where would you place me in this competition?”

“Around fifteenth.”

Yuuri clenched his fists. “We’re going to _show_ you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Victor (to Makkachin)**  
>  Bud' khoroshey sobachkoy. = Be a good dog.
> 
>  **Chris and Victor**  
>  Que se passe-t-il? = What’s going on?  
> Victor, je suis désolé. = Victor, I’m sorry.  
> C'est bon de te voir, petit. = It’s good to see you, little one.  
> Ah, tu avais quelqu'un d'autre pour te tenir compagnie. Est-ce que Yuuri te traite mieux que moi? Est-ce l'amour? = Oh, you had someone else to keep you company. Does Yuuri treat you better than I do? Is it love?  
> Je ne sais pas encore. = I don’t know yet.  
> Je suis profondément désolé pour ta perte. = I’m deeply sorry for your loss.  
> À bientôt! = See you later!
> 
>  **Yakov (to Victor)**  
>  Vitya, idi syuda! = Victor, come here!


	12. Win or lose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta (thanks Tawabids!) asked me if this chapter was the end of the story. It could have been, I guess, but don't you want another two chapters of happy fluff afterwards??
> 
> Tiny bit of Russian in here - let me know if I messed it up!

For the short programme, Yuuri drew fifth in the order out of thirty skaters. It meant he’d be on the ice much earlier than he’d have liked.

“That makes it harder,” he told Victor.

“Starting order doesn’t matter. Don’t worry, you’ll be--”

“No, don’t brush it off,” said Yuuri. He flexed his hands at his sides, trying to stop himself from twitching and fiddling with his sleeves. “Nobody likes skating early.”

Victor gave him a thoughtful look. “Okay,” he admitted after a pause. “It’s harder, but you can still do it.”

Yuuri couldn’t smile, but he managed a firm nod. “Yes,” he said, “I can.”

The anxiety of competition was almost pleasantly familiar. It was the World Championships; Riku-sensei wasn’t there to help him; the pressure was huge, especially after what he’d said to Yakov; he was skating early. One slip could ruin his chances. He was anxious, and he was likely to get more anxious as the competition went on. Perhaps his heart would pound. Perhaps his stomach would churn and he would hear the roar of his pulse in his ears.

That was okay. He was going to skate anyway. He had coping strategies and breathing techniques and people who cared about him waiting back home. He could do it.

***

 

“Good luck,” Victor said. He clasped Yuuri’s hand tight, then lifted it to his lips and kissed it, just a soft brush of a kiss and a breath of air. “Impress me.”

Then he stepped away from the barrier and Yuuri was alone on the ice.

The wide space of the rink was filled with a hubbub of voices, low-pitched but inescapable. The crowd at the Palais des Expositions was huge, far bigger than at his Grand Prix assignments or the Four Continents. Yuuri had to remind himself that he’d done this before. He’d skated at the World Championships, at the gala, with Victor. The crowd had loved him – loved them both.

He raised his arms in acknowledgement as he skated a slow curve and came to a stop in the centre of the ice. He took a deep breath, directing his mind away from the watchers, focusing on his programme, preparing to let the music transport him to the wizarding world and awaken all the wonder he felt. He told himself determinedly not to think about the other side of magic, of Victor, and Victor’s mother, and the ethics classes that had always made him uneasy. He had to think of the sky over the Hogwarts great hall and the children whisking their wands to swirl the fallen leaves. He had to think of balls of light illuminating a deserted rink for illicit after-hours skating. He had to think of touching his hand to a crystal or tracing his wand along the slope of a painted mountain and stepping into a different world.

As the music began, the knowledge surged within him. His life was magical. _He_ was magical, and he was so, so lucky.

The routine was a little different than it had been all season so far. Victor had tweaked the choreography. Yuuri, caught up in the emotion of his programme, missed one of the transposed jumps. He barely noticed. A few improvised steps were better anyway. In his mind he stepped forward onto tatami matting and landed barefoot, his shoe melting away. He cut a smooth circle in the ice, too fast for his triple Axel, just fast enough for the feeling of being snatched through space to end up in a Russian rink, holding Victor’s hand. He over-rotated the jump, and came out of it in the slow swoop of a thick, bubbling potion. Then into his beloved step sequence, as quick and sure as Professor McGonagall on that very first day, demonstrating spell after spell to an awed class of eleven-year-olds.

He leaned blissfully into his spread eagle and then danced his way across the ice and into a turn that left him without quite enough speed for the quad toe loop. He made it a triple combination instead. It didn’t matter. It still expressed that incredible spiral of transfiguration, where an object twisted itself inside out and became something else entirely.

Skating on through his world of magic, reckless and exultant, he barely noticed as the errors racked up. It wasn’t until he dropped out of his final spin, too early, that he realised what had happened. He couldn’t even begin to count how many points he’d just lost.

What had he been _thinking_? He’d made a mess of the whole thing.

By the time he reached the rinkside where Victor was waiting, he was trying to hold back tears of humiliation. He kept his head down as he stepped off the ice. “I messed up,” he said. “I missed the quad. And…”

“And everything else,” interrupted Victor, as though he was giving his usual post-practice lecture, cheerfully and unerringly pointing out all of Yuuri’s missteps. “That entry into the triple sal, Yuuri? I could have done it better when I was eight years old. And what was with your ankle position in the flying spin?”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Yuuri snapped. He raised his head to glare into Victor’s face. “Let’s just hear the scores, then I can change my flight and go back home to Hasetsu tomorrow.”

Victor blinked at him. “Home? Why would you go home?”

“I’m not staying to watch the competition if I’m not even going to qualify for the free skate.”

“Of course you’ll qualify!” said Victor. He linked his arm through Yuuri’s and drew him over to the kiss and cry.

“But…”

“Shush. Sit down and smile for the cameras,” said Victor. He sank down into his seat and patted the couch next to him. “Think of your fans!”

Yuuri was pretty sure he wouldn’t have any fans left after that performance, but he did his best to smile. He wasn’t going to make things worse by crying in front of the whole world. He swallowed hard, resisting the temptation to close his eyes. As the announcer called for the scores, he wondered what it would be. Sixty? Fifty-five?

The number flashed up in the screen. It was blurred without his glasses but still legible.

76.20

Yuuri felt his mouth drop open. “How…?” he  breathed. “”That can’t be… how can it?” He squinted at the scoreboard, trying to see the smaller numbers. “Victor, what’s my technical?”

“Thirty-two,” said Victor. He almost sounded like he was laughing. “ _Yuu_ -ri, that’s terrible. And you deserve it.”

“I thought it would be worse,” said Yuuri. He blinked at the scoreboard again. The number was still, unmistakably, seventy-six.  “But… _forty-four_ for programme components?”

Victor tilted his head, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. I wonder if you beat my best on performance,” he said. “I usually score higher overall, but that’s down to the choreography.”

Yuuri nodded blankly, feeling dazed at the sudden reprieve from disaster. Seventy-six was a solid effort. Not quite a medal contender, but certainly not the fifteenth place Yakov had predicted. He bowed his head to the camera and gave a little wave, then got to his feet as the next competitor skated out onto the ice.

Victor slung an arm around his shoulders as they moved away towards the changing rooms. “The press will want to talk to us after that one!” he said. “Do you want to give some extra TV interviews? It’s good exposure. I’ll arrange some, if—”

“No,” said Yuuri. “No, I… no interviews. And—” he stopped dead, making Victor sway away from him with the unexpected break in stride. “Victor, I’m sorry about the technical.”

“Don’t be sorry,” said Victor. He smiled and reached out to trace one finger down Yuuri’s cheek. “It was exactly what I wanted to see. That was the real Yuuri Katsuki.”

 

***

 

On the cab ride back to the hotel, Yuuri kept seeing the scoreboard emblazoned on the inside of his eyelids.

  1. KATSUKI Yuuri……. 76.20



Seventh. And it wasn’t over yet. Chris and the Canadian champion, Patrick Chan, were way out ahead of the field, up in the nineties, but the rest of the top ten were clustered close around Yuuri. Tomorrow could go either way.

“You’re tense,” said Victor when they got back to their room. “You need to relax! Let’s go to the pool.”

“What?” said Yuuri. “Victor, I’m tired.”

“I won’t make you swim laps,” said Victor, and threw a towel at his head.

Yuuri sighed. “Okay.”

They went to the rooftop pool and floated on their backs, looking up at few scattered clouds. Then they put on their hotel bathrobes and lounged around on Yuuri’s bed, watching an old romance while Victor carefully painted Yuuri’s fingernails sparkling blue to match his free skate costume. They ate room service, and brushed their teeth, and curled up together under the covers. Yuuri pressed his face into the back of Victor’s neck, into the soft prickle of hair that had been trimmed to perfection especially for the competition. After a while, despite the dual chorus of anxiety and want running through him, he managed to fall asleep.

 

***

 

As always, the highest scorers from the short programme were skating last in the free skate – Patrick Chan of Canada last of all, and Chris just before him.

The early results brought no surprises. Skaters came away with low, or respectable, or even impressive scores, building up a little ranking, beating one another, but not vying for the top spots. Nothing out of the ordinary. Yuuri sat through eleventh, tenth, ninth, and then eighth place came away with an uninspired 154.22, and it was finally his turn.

He wasn’t going to be uninspiring. He wouldn’t let himself be.

He stood at the side of the rink, with just the barrier between him and Victor, and let Victor tuck a stray strand of hair back into place.

“You can do this,” said Victor. “I’ve never seen you connect with your free skate music in practise. You’ve never skated it the way you did at the NHK Trophy. I know you’re holding something back. But I believe in you. However you want to skate it, I believe in you. I have since you were twelve years old.”

“V-Victor…” stammered Yuuri. He felt tears prickle at his eyes.

“Show the world how beautiful you are,” said Victor, pressing another kiss to his hand. “And Yuuri?”

“Yes?”

“This time, don’t mess up your jumps.”

Yuuri gave a breathless laugh. “I’ll land them all.” He rested his forehead against Victor’s. “Watch me,” he said. “Don’t take your eyes off me.”

There were thousands of people watching – judges, reporters, fans, competitors, coaches – but only one of them really mattered. For the first time since the NHK Trophy, Yuuri allowed himself to skate his programme for Victor.

_You and me._

The music was about his dreams. Not the dreams of the perfect artist on the ice, the person his childish infatuation had created. He danced his dreams of the real Victor, who was selfish sometimes, and scared, and tried hard. Victor who had regrets, who hated himself for cheating, who wished he’d spent time with his mother instead of training. Victor who was lonely, with nobody in his life but his dog, and his many friends, and Chris, and Yakov, and Yuuri.

_I dream of skating with you and winning gold, of breaking your records and having you break mine. I dream of being with you. I dream of knowing you just as you are._

He flew over the ice, buoyed up by his determination. He wanted to snatch a gold medal from Victor’s grasp one day, and to do that he had to be perfect. He followed the lines his body knew, angling his blades just right, skimming across the ice and timing the jumps to the millisecond. Triple flip. Triple Axel-double loop combination. Quadruple salchow. All of them clean and precise.

_Look what you’ve done for me as my coach. Thank you._

It felt like growing up. Where before he’d ended the programme with anger, this time he ended it with love.

He was wrung out, trembling, gasping with exhaustion, but he still had the strength to skate too fast for dignity towards where Victor was waiting, to stumble through the gate and into Victor’s arms.

“I did great, right?”

Victor nodded. There were tears on his cheeks. “That was about me,” he said. “How can I mean so much to you? I don’t understand.”

“You just do,” said Yuuri. He gave a little sob into Victor’s shoulder. “When we were at school, I thought I was in love with you. But it’s different now. It’s real.”

Victor was trembling. “I want to say I love you too,” he choked. “But Yuuri, I can’t. I can’t feel anything properly. I just miss my mama.”

“I know,” said Yuuri. “I know. It’s okay.”

One of the competition organisers was trying to herd them towards the kiss and cry. Yuuri took Victor’s hand.

“Come on. Let’s see the scores.”

He did close his eyes this time, as they waited. He opened them at the roar of applause from the crowd, and Victor’s delighted, “Wow!” at his side.

The scoreboard read 194.75.

Yuuri felt a smile spread across his face. It was exactly ten points off the standing world record – Victor’s record, the one he’d set at the World Championships three years earlier. The record from Enchantment.

Ten points was nothing. He could break that record one day.

“Six skaters to go,” said Victor, as they left the kiss and cry. “Yuuri... you won’t beat Chris. Or Patrick. Not unless something goes very wrong.”

Yuuri nodded. With their advantage from the short programme, even an average score would still put them ahead of him. “That’s not how I want to win. But… bronze?”

Victor squeezed his hand. “I think so.”

Yuuri tried to swallow. His throat had gone dry. Four other skaters would take their turn before the two favourites. It would only take one of them to push him off the podium. His chest contracted just thinking about it, and the first of them wasn’t even on the ice yet.

“I can’t watch,” he said. He leaned into Victor’s shoulder for another hug, and sighed as Victor’s arms wrapped around him instantly. “I saw a janitor’s closet back by the changing rooms. Will you come and get me when it’s over?”

Victor hesitated, then tightened his hold for a brief second. “If that’s what you want,” he said.

Reluctantly, Yuuri drew away. Barely in earshot of the rink noise, he collected his wand and his phone from his bag and cast a charm to unlock the convenient closet. He locked it behind him and stood in the dark for a moment before murmuring, “ _Lumos_.” There was a light switch by the door, but he preferred the comforting glow of his magic.

The little room smelled of lemon floor cleaner and chemicals. He settled himself down on the floor, between a wheeled mop bucket and a few brooms. All he had to do was wait there, calm and quiet in the light from his wand. Time would pass. Soon enough, the competition would be over. He turned his mind away from the present, to Hasetsu. He imagined himself walking on the beach in the sunshine, Vicchan and Makkachin chasing one another along the sand, Victor strolling beside him.

It was just another dream. After the competition, Victor would go home to St Petersburg, and Yuuri would go to Detroit. He didn’t mind, really. Victor had been the guiding force in his life for far too long. Every step had been somehow down to Victor’s influence: his move to Tokyo; his notoriety in the skating world; his anxiety and its aftereffects; the anger that had spurred him on to succeed; even getting his dog.

He wanted space. With space, Victor would begin to heal in his own home. Yuuri could begin to get used to the emotions he had just skated. He was eighteen. Victor was only four years older. They had time.

He glanced at his phone. Barely five minutes had passed.

One of his playlists was nothing but free skate music. He popped his headphones in and set it on shuffle. Six people to skate, six tracks. Extra time between each skater would add on another few. He could listen to the music and remember the programme that belonged with each track, the skater, the competition. It wouldn’t be much longer.

The third track to come on was Enchantment.

He’d never got a better copy of the music. It was still the recording he’d taken from YouTube, with a background hum of crowd noise and smatterings of applause. He closed his eyes and listened as his memory played out the routine, every turn and jump so clearly recalled that he thought he could have skated either of the parts without practise.  He watched as a ghostly teenaged Victor chased yearningly after a fairy creature. He watched as a much younger Yuuri flitted just out of reach, spurred on by anger and cruelty. He watched his own triumph and Victor’s defeat.

The music came to an end. He restarted it, and listened again. And again.

There was a sharp knock at the door. Yuuri nearly jumped out of his skin. He flailed out with one hand to keep his balance and collided with the handle of a broom.

“Yuuri!” called Victor, as three brooms and a mop clattered down on Yuuri’s head. “Come out! They need the bronze medallist on the podium!”

Yuuri scrabbled among the brooms for his wand. “I’m coming,” he called. It was more a gasp than actual words. He picked himself up and fumbled with the lock on the door. It seemed to take him forever to turn the latch with his shaking hands. Finally, he pulled it open. Victor was standing outside, beaming. He opened his arms. Yuuri stumbled into them and found himself lifted off his feet and spun around and around. He was somewhere between laughter and tears by the time Victor set him down.

“I won bronze?”

“Yes. Chris took gold. Patrick got silver. Nobody else even came close.” Quieter, Victor murmured, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you first place.”

“I don’t want it. It doesn’t count if you’re not competing.”

Victor laughed. “I’ll have to remind Chris of that,” he said. “But… not today.”

 

***

 

It was truly bizarre to be standing on the podium at the World Championships while the crowd roared around him. Even stranger to think of how many people were watching on TV, and to know that his parents and his sister and Minako were among them. Riku-sensei too. He’d have to thank Riku-sensei at the press conference. None of this would have been possible without him.

He looked up at Chris on the top step. “Congratulations,” he said, as the camera flashes continued.

“You too,” said Chris. “I’m buying you a drink this time. Tonight. No arguments.”

“Okay,” said Yuuri. He could imagine rather liking Chris one day.

Chris winked. “Good. Make sure Victor lets you out of bed long enough to make it to the bar.”

Yuuri felt his face flush scarlet. Great. Now he would be blushing in every single picture. “He… w-we don’t…” he stammered, before snapping his mouth shut, wishing he hadn’t said anything.

Chris burst out laughing. “Why on earth not?”

“None of your business!”

“Poor Yuuri. Well, you don’t have to be lonely! I’m in room 304. I might have company, but you can join in.”

“Shut up!” said Yuuri, as the photographer ordered the three medallists to crowd onto the top step of the podium. He gritted his teeth and smiled for the pictures. With all of them pressed so closely together, Chris’s quiet sniggers were perfectly audible.

 

***

 

On the way out of the rink, Yakov caught up with them

“Yuuri, congratulations. That was quite a performance,” he said. He turned to Victor and, unexpectedly, reached up to pinch his cheek. “Vitya, ochen' toboy gorzhus'.”

Victor’s eyes went wide. He gave a watery smile and wrapped himself around Yakov in a hug. He was so much taller that he had to bend halfway over to do it, and he knocked Yakov’s hat clean off his head.

Yakov patted him on the back. “Nu uspokoysya. Otstan' ot menya, os'minog.”

Still a little teary-eyed, Victor let him go and stepped back to Yuuri’s side. “Yuuri’s going to do even better next year,” he said. “We’re going to have to work hard to beat him.”

Yakov stooped to pick up his hat. The movement almost hid the pleased smile that dawned on his face. “ _You’re_ going to have to work hard,” he grumbled. “I always work hard.”

“Yes, I heard you’ve been busy,” said Victor sweetly. “Georgi told me you have an absolutely _adorable_ new ten-year-old prodigy to teach.” He slung his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and steered him towards the exit, calling, “Goodbye, Yakov!” over his shoulder.

He’s not as unbearable as you were!” yelled Yakov as they walked away.

Once they were safely out of earshot, Yuuri asked, “What did he say to you?”

“He said he’s proud of me.”

“Good,” said Yuuri. “He should be.”

 

***

 

Although there were still days of other events before the gala that rounded off the competition, Yuuri knew that things were coming to an end. He and Victor were sitting on his bed, side by side, shoulders touching, taking a moment of quiet as the stresses of the day made themselves felt. He wasn’t at all surprised when Victor broke the silence.

“Yuuri… I’ll come back to Japan to get Makkachin. Then I have to go home.”

Yuuri nodded. He wanted to tell Victor that it was okay, it was the right thing to do, but he thought if he spoke he might burst into tears. Instead he just wrapped his arms around Victor and held on.

“I’ll miss you,” Victor murmured into his hair.

“W-we can still talk,” said Yuuri. “You’ll call me, won’t you?”

“Of course. But I’ll still miss you,” said Victor. “Yuuri, I want you to have something.” He gently detached himself from Yuuri’s hug and stood up to fetch something from one of the bedside drawers. He held out his hand to Yuuri, opening it to reveal a delicate chain with a gold ring threaded on it. “It was Babushka’s – my grandmother’s. Mama never married, but after Babushka died she always wore it. I can’t be your coach anymore, but this will help you remember that I’ll still be supporting you.”

“Victor… I can’t take your mother’s ring.”

“Not forever,” said Victor. “You can give it back to me when you beat me.”

He opened the little gold clasp. Yuuri stood up and turned around, letting Victor fasten the chain around his neck.

“Wear it to competitions. For good luck.”

“Are you sure?” said Yuuri. As he turned back to Victor, his fingers came up to touch the skin-warmed metal. The weight of the ring felt just right.

“Wear it to the gala too,” said Victor. “I want to see you skate your programme for me again.”

Yuuri nodded. He didn’t plan on ever taking the ring off.

“Great!” said Victor. “And until then, we’ve got lots to do.”

 

***

 

Three weeks later, Yuuri was sitting on his bed in Hasetsu, suitcases for his move to Detroit half-packed and forgotten. He was looking at the latest post on Victor’s brand new Instagram account.

The picture had been taken at the St Petersburg rink that Yuuri had visited as a child. Victor was caught in graceful motion, arms raised in the middle of a turn. _“Excited for next season?”_ the caption read, followed by a string of smiley faces.

Yuuri smiled. Yes. Yes, he was excited.

Then he scrolled backwards in time through the feed of snapshots and selfies: the sun shining over the pebbly beaches of Nice; laughing skaters posing in front of monuments or clustered under trees hiding from a rain shower; plates of seafood and giant ice creams; Chris with bright pink drinks in either hand; Victor, staring out to sea in one photo, then turning to give a peace sign in the next; and Yuuri himself, again and again, smiling wide and bright at the camera, at Victor, even at Chris. He looked utterly happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Yakov (to Victor)**  
>  Vitya, ochen' toboy gorzhus'. = Victor, I'm very proud of you.  
> Nu uspokoysya. Otstan' ot menya, os'minog. = There, there. Let go of me, octopus.


	13. A new beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, this fic grew another chapter. There will now be 15.
> 
> The usual thanks to Tawabids for being eternally awesome, and thank y'all for reading. Your comments make me so happy.
> 
> Tell me if I got the Russian wrong!

Yuuri arrived in Detroit at the end of April. He found it very foreign; at least In Tokyo he’d had a culture in common with the others. Despite the amount of American TV he’d watched, Americans never behaved quite as he expected them to.

At the rink, Coach Celestino was welcoming. He was the only one. Yuuri had expected to see a couple of familiar faces from the Four Continents, but one of Coach Celestino’s high-ranking skaters had retired that year and the other was injured and never at the rink. The rest of the older skaters were polite but distant. The younger ones just stared at him.

He had a room on the campus of what would be his university, in a large building filled with students who were just weeks away from their summer break. They had no interest in him whatsoever.

He spent a lot of time working out with his headphones in and his head down. It was a very familiar feeling: with headphones he wasn’t so conspicuously alone.

 

***

 

“We don’t think you’re weird, or anything,” said the tiny Thai junior, Phichit. He smiled reassuringly at Yuuri while absently letting his golden hamster run from one hand to the next. “Of course we don’t. It’s just that… I don’t think anyone really knows how to make friends with you. We don’t want to bother you. You’re the World Championship bronze medallist. You’re busy and important. You have an agent. You have endorsement deals.”

“I don’t have endorsement deals,” said Yuuri, rubbing the back of his neck as though it could hide his embarrassment. He couldn’t argue with the agent part. She was terrifying. He’d only been in the US for three weeks, and she already wanted him to fly home to do some TV appearances.

“You’re in talks,” said Phichit. He shrugged. “Sorry. Rink gossip.” He set the golden hamster down on his bed and picked up another one, holding it up to whuffle its tiny pink nose against his own. “I’ve been wanting to get a selfie with you ever since you arrived, but I didn’t dare until now.”

 _When you found me crying on the phone in the changing rooms_ , Yuuri mentally added. He was grateful that Phichit had invited him over to meet his hamsters, but it was a pretty undignified way to get to know someone. “I’m not a celebrity,” he said. “This time last year I was just a dime-a-dozen nobody.”

“We-ell,” said Phichit, “you are kind of amazing. We’ve seen you skate.”

Yuuri ducked his head. That was one of the other really weird things about the Detroit rink, apart from the whispers and the glances and the way people moved out of his way when he was walking through the corridors. Everyone wanted to watch him, even if he was just practising his quads or running through some old step sequences. It was even more unnerving than the crowd that had gathered at the train station when he and Victor had arrived back at Hasetsu after Worlds.

“Oh wow!” exclaimed Phichit. He was gazing wide-eyed at his phone. “Victor Nikiforov just commented on my Instagram post!” He bounced down the bed to sit beside Yuuri. “Look!”

Yuuri looked at the screen. In the selfie, Phichit was grinning and gesturing at Yuuri, who had a hamster on each shoulder and one on his head.

 _SO CUTE!!! Thanks for cheering him up <3,_ Victor had written.

“Was _he_ who you were talking to just now?” asked Phichit.

“Um… yes.”

“So, you have a World Championship bronze medal, an agent, and endorsement deals, and when you need a shoulder to cry on you have Victor Nikiforov on speed dial. You’re not intimidating at all.”

Yuuri managed a shy smile. “I also have magical powers,” he said.

“Sure you do,” said Phichit, giggling. “You’re a superhero. Hey, do you want to come to Motor City Comic Con with me?”

Yuuri blinked, surprised, but he wasn’t going to turn down such a kind offer, even if it had been made because Phichit felt sorry for him. He nodded enthusiastically, and promised to wear one of Phichit’s animal onesies for the trip. It would look ridiculous, but Phichit seemed so happy about it that he didn’t really mind. Besides, Victor would like to see the photos.

 

***

 

Each of the magic schools ran on a slightly different term time. Even though Yuuri had officially graduated from Mahoutokoro, there were still lessons to go to. Nobody would have minded if he’d stopped turning up. Nobody commented on the fact that he still attended religiously.

There weren't twelve students anymore. There were nine. Over the years, three of Yuuri’s classmates had changed their minds, taken catch-up classes, and joined their respective schools full-time. Those three would take magical qualifications, get jobs in the magical world and - just maybe - leave their muggle heritage behind.

Sam was still in Yuuri’s class. At eighteen, he had less hope of soccer stardom, and more of an ordinary, comfortable life playing with his local team at weekends and following the Premiere League on TV. He was going to university to study engineering, if he got good enough A-level results. Yuuri didn’t think Sam regretted choosing the muggle world. He himself certainly didn’t. Even so, he was dreading the day of his last ever class, knowing his crystal paperweight would never again give out its faint chime and its glow to welcome him to school.

One Saturday, Yuuri was stretching out a Hogwarts classroom to four times its area in preparation for his weekly skating lesson. The spells to create the rink were second nature by now. They only took a few minutes, so if he really needed to he could come to Hogwarts, prepare the rink, give his lesson and rush off leaving his students under Madam Hooch’s eye, all in the space of an hour.

He was halfway done with the spells, not quite ready to start building up the layer of ice, when he caught sight oa a looming dark silhouette out of the corner of his eye. He jumped a foot in surprise. Professor McGonagall was standing silently at his shoulder, watching his progress.

“P-professor?” he said. He was lucky not to lose track of the spell.

“Good morning, Mr Katsuki.”

“Um… can I help you with something?”

“That’s what I have come here to find out,” she said.

“You have?”

She gave a brisk nod. “I have a proposition for you. Several students have said they would be sorry to see your skating lessons end once you’re no longer a pupil here. I have discussed the matter with Madam Hooch, and she has agreed that we could offer you a small fee out of the sports department budget if you would continue your Saturday morning lessons-”

“Yes,” said Yuuri, nodding frantically. “Yes please!” Then his hand flew to his mouth. “Oh - I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted.”

“Don’t apologise, Mr Katsuki. I appreciate your enthusiasm. We’ll be very glad to have you back with us in September.”

Yuuri babbled his thanks, barely aware of what he was saying. As soon as Professor McGonagall had gone, he finished creating the ice rink as quickly as he could, and scrambled into his skates. He made three quick circles of the rink and launched into a spin in the centre, then came out of it with a little whoop of joy, a dance, a combination jump and a final, victorious pose.

A round of applause came from the doorway.

Yuuri blushed and waved hello to his students. He didn’t stop smiling for the whole lesson.

 

***

 

Victor loved the Comic Con pictures.

“You look _adorable_ ,” he cooed over Skype, as he scrolled on his phone. “Yuuri, the little ears!”

In Yuuri’s opinion, Victor was the one who looked adorable. Also, shirtless. Very shirtless, as he often was for their Skype calls. With the time difference and their busy schedules, they’d found that one of the best times to talk was when Yuuri was just going to bed and Victor had just woken up. Victor was always sleep-mussed and soft-edged for those calls, sprawled with Makkachin in his warm nest of duvet and pillows. Yuuri wanted nothing more than to snuggle in next to him.

“It was fun,” he admitted. “Phichit’s nice.”

“I’m glad you’re making friends,” Victor said. Before Yuuri could point out that he’d made _one_ friend, he continued, “It’ll be easier when you start classes. You’ll make friends with all the other college kids. Such a smart cookie.”

Yuuri blushed. “I’m not smart,” he said. His classes would be entirely in English, and while he was confident with everyday conversation he certainly didn’t know all the complicated scientific words he’s have to deal with in Bio 101. He wasn’t sure how well he’d manage the workload either, on top of his training and whatever strange things his agent asked him to do.

“Yes you are. It’s hard to study and skate,” said Victor. “I only finished high school because I knew Mama wouldn’t give me permission to drop out. I think she wanted me to go to university one day.”

“You could.”

Victor shook his head. “It wouldn’t suit me. I hated school. I was terrible at everything.”

 _That’s not true_ , Yuuri thought. Despite his obvious lack of effort, Victor had been good at magic. But there was no point in mentioning that.

“How are your programmes?” he asked instead.

“Stop asking! You know I won’t tell you. Tell me about yours; I want to hear everything _._ ”

Yuuri smiled. It was wonderful, having someone to talk to about his programmes or his problems or just whatever was on his mind. He might not have a lot of friends in Detroit, but he had a best friend just a Skype call away. Maybe more than a best friend. He reached up to touch the gold ring on its chain around his neck, and knew Victor’s eyes would be tracking the gesture on his screen.

“I landed a quad flip in practice today,” he admitted.

“Yuuri!” squealed Victor, loud enough to make Makkachin bounce upright with a surprised woof. “Wow!”

Giggling, Yuuri pulled his laptop closer and settled in to tell Victor all about it.

 

***

 

It was close to the end of October, six months since Yuuri had arrived in the States. Fresh from Skate America with a gold medal tucked away safely in his room, he was trying not to chew his lip or twitch his leg as he sat in the back seat of the club minivan. He and a group of skaters from his rink were on their way to Skate Canada International, which was being held in Mississauga, less than four hours’ drive from Detroit. None of them were competing, but they were all going along to spectate; no one wanted to miss Victor Nikiforov’s comeback event.

He and Victor hadn’t seen each other in the flesh since Hasetsu. Yuuri was pretty sure he was more nervous about this trip than he had been about his own GP assignment.

It seemed like they hit traffic jam after traffic jam. As they finally pulled into the parking lot of the Hershey Centre, Yuuri checked his phone for the tenth time and breathed a sigh of relief. Six fifty-five. They’d missed the afternoon events, of course, and even the opening ceremony, but they would be just in time to catch the men’s short programmes.

He tapped out a text to Victor: _We’re here! \\(_ _^-^)/_ _Can’t wait to see you skate!_

They pulled into a spot and made their way across the parking lot, through the ticket gates and into the lobby of the building. In the break before the men’s event, people were milling around the concessions stands or wandering around stretching their legs. Yuuri had got precisely ten steps into the building when a teenage girl stepped into his path and shyly asked if he was Yuuri Katsuki. He blinked at her for a moment with his mouth open. Somehow in his nervousness he’d completely forgotten that this might happen. “Yes,” he managed, and then “Yes,” again when she asked for his autograph. He signed her programme in red ballpoint and stood next to her for a photo as she told him how much she’d loved his free skate and wished him good luck in his next event. Once she was gone he gave an apologetic smile to Phichit and the others. “Sorry. I’m keeping you waiting.”

“You’ve got incoming,” said Phichit cheerfully.

This time it was an older man, around Yuuri’s father’s age, with the perfect posture that suggested he’d been a dancer or a figure skater himself once upon a time. Yuuri ducked his head politely and signed his name again. As soon as the man was done, someone else came to take his place.

The next couple of minutes were very embarrassing. Yuuri was worried it would never end. Then a sudden hum of excitement ran through the hall.

“Look,” someone murmured in the group clustered around Yuuri, “it’s Victor Nikiforov!”

Yuuri shoved a signed programme back into the hands of his latest fan with a hasty apology and turned to scan the crowd.

“Yuuri!”

Victor was on the other side of the hall, waving, smiling like the sun coming out.

Yuuri waved back. He hurried across the room, dodging around and between groups of people, “Excuse me, can I…?” Then he was just metres away, stumbling forward in a rush and into Victor’s arms.

“Oh,” he whispered into Victor’s shoulder.

Suddenly, the bustling entryway felt blissfully quiet. It was as though they were the only two people there.

“Yuuri,” murmured Victor. His hand came up to cradle the back of Yuuri’s neck. Yuuri felt a slight friction as the gold chain shifted.

It took long, long seconds for them to let go of one another. At that point Yuuri discovered why it had suddenly seemed so quiet. Half of the onlookers had stopped talking in order to get out their phones and snap pictures of him and Victor.

Victor slung his arm comfortably over Yuuri’s shoulders and flashed a peace sign for the cameras before drawing Yuuri away into the relative privacy of a stairwell. “We’ve only got a minute or two,” he said. “I need to get ready, but I wanted to see you first.”

“I guess Yakov will be looking for you?”

“It’s no fun if he isn’t,” said Victor. “Yuuri – I need you to wish me luck. This skate is going to be something special.”

“You don’t need luck.”

“I know. But do it anyway.”

Yuuri nodded. He took Victor’s hand and pressed a quick kiss to it. “Good luck. Skate your best. Impress me.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Can I see you afterwards?”

Victor nodded. “I’ll text you where I’m staying. I’ll have press, but it shouldn’t take too long. If you don’t mind missing the ice dance you can come straight over after the men finish.”

“Of course I don’t mind. I’ll be there.”

“I’d better get back now before Yakov bursts a blood vessel. Tell Phichit I said hello.”

They shared one more hug before Victor slipped away. Yuuri stood for another minute or two, waiting for his heart to stop thumping quite so fast, before he went to find the others.

 

***

 

Once the men’s event got started, Yuuri sat through the first handful of skaters without giving them the attention they deserved. It wasn’t just him. As each competitor took their turn, the slight edge of impatience to the applause confirmed that almost everyone in the audience was waiting to see Victor.

It seemed to take an age for Victor’s turn to arrive, but eventually the previous competitor got his score and moved on. The whole rink seemed to tingle and hum with anticipation. Yuuri could only imagine what the TV commentators were saying: talking through the highlights of Victor’s career; debating whether he would be on form after more than a season away from the ice; discussing his unexpected role as Yuuri’s coach. There was always too much to choose from, when it came to Victor.

The speaker system at the rink simply announced Victor Nikiforov of Russia. Everything else was said by the sudden, perfect hush that fell among the spectators.

Victor was dressed simply in black and charcoal grey. It might almost have been one of his practice outfits, save for the cling of the fabric and the hint of sparkle at his neck and wrists. The music, when it began, was just as understated. It was a sweet, plaintive piano piece in a minor key, the refrain unadorned at first, then joined by chords that rose and died away. Victor skated as though he were dancing across the notes, above them, leaping from one to another as they fell into the silence. In the moments of quiet between one strain of melody and the next, Yuuri could hear the soft hiss of his blades on the ice.

It was unlike anything Victor had done before. His routines were always full of energy, emotion and invention. They were narratives and spectacles, fantastic performances. Instead, this was skating pared back to its purest form, just the movement of a single figure on a wide white rink. There was no story. The emotion it held wasn’t anything that could be easily classified. It was achingly beautiful. It flowed so naturally, so inevitably, that it seemed quite impossible for Victor to make a mistake. As each jump and spin and combination flashed by, Yuuri could almost have forgotten that he was watching the most technically difficult short programme that had ever been skated.

Throughout the routine, the audience was strangely quiet. The usual roar at a successful jump was muted, as though nobody wanted to interrupt. When the music ended, the cacophony of applause was like a dam bursting. It went on and on, flooding the arena with sound.

After a minute, Phichit finished mopping at his eyes and offered his pocket-sized package of tissues to Yuuri. Yuuri tried to smile his thanks. His throat was too closed-up to talk.

“He’s amazing,” said Phichit. “He’s _amazing._ ”

Yuuri nodded.

Phichit pulled out his phone and snuggled his shoulder against Yuuri’s. “Crying selfie,” he declared, snapping a picture. He showed it to Yuuri. They were both red-eyed with watery, overwhelmed smiles. “Hold on, let me post it. Um… After v-nikiforov’s short programme. Hashtag SkateCanada. Hashtag YuuriKatsuki.”

“They’re ready to announce the scores,” whispered Yuuri. His voice was too shaky for more than that.

“It’ll be a record. It has to be. I bet he breaks a hundred.”

The numbers flashed up on the scoreboard. Instantly, the crowd went wild.

“I told you!” Phichit squeaked. “Didn’t I… Yuuri? Oh, here, have more tissues.”

Victor beamed and waved and hugged Yakov. Yuuri snuffled into the Kleenex, wishing both that he was down there with Victor in the kiss and cry, and that he was the next competitor to step out on the ice.

 

***

 

When Yuuri knocked on the door of Victor’s hotel suite, he was surprised to find it answered by Yakov.

“Yuuri,” said Yakov. He turned back into the room. “Vitya, eto Yuuri.”

“Vpusti yego,” came Victor’s voice, sounding quiet and tired.

“Go in,” said Yakov. “I’ll be down in the bar if he needs me.”

Yuuri gave Yakov an enquiring look, but got nothing in return. Unsettled, he went in, through the empty main room and to the bedroom. Victor was sitting on the bed, still dressed in his costume. His head was bowed. He seemed very still.

“Victor?” said Yuuri, going over to the bed. “What’s wrong?” He smoothed Victor’s hair back. Beneath it, Victor was dry-eyed but very pale. One of his hands, Yuuri could see, was clenched tight around his phone. “Tell me.”

“I keep expecting her to call,” said Victor. He tilted forwards until his forehead rested against Yuuri’s body.

“Oh,” Yuuri whispered. He cradled Victor’s head for a moment, then settled himself on the bed so he could give Victor a proper hug.

“I don’t know why. I haven’t forgotten that she’s gone. But she always called after I skated. I feel like… if I just wait, she’ll call. And then I realise that she won’t.”

Yuuri didn’t know what to say. There didn’t seem to be any way he could possibly make it better, so he just held on, letting Victor lean against him.

After a while, Victor released his grip on the phone. It fell onto the bedcovers beside his thigh, and he let out a sigh. “I’m so sick of feeling like this. I set a new world record, Yuuri. I should be happy.”

“No. Let yourself be sad,” said Yuuri. He had no real experience of grief, but he knew what his therapist always told him about his anxiety. “You don’t choose your feelings.”

“She always said was proud of me. She would’ve been proud of me if I’d skated a novice routine and fallen on my backside.” Victor sighed again. “Yuuri, what did you think of my routine?”

Yuuri paused. “I thought… it showed how much we need you.”

Victor raised his head to look at Yuuri at last. “Go on.”

“Nothing’s going to be the same after that performance. You’ve… raised the bar. Is that the right way to say it?”

Victor nodded.

“I can’t beat you this year,” said Yuuri. He felt a sting of disappointment saying it aloud, even though he’d known it was true since halfway through Victor’s record-breaking skate. “But next season… I’ll have new ways to think about my programmes, my music, my choreography. I’ve learned a lot today. Every figure skater has.”

Victor hugged him harder. “That’s the nicest thing you could have said,” he mumbled. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad too.”

“Let’s get dinner. Just us.”

They went to the hotel restaurant. Nobody bothered them; the ice dance competition was still going on, so the fans were elsewhere. It was a cosy meal at a little candlelit table. To Yuuri, it felt hyper-real; the taste of the food almost too intense, Victor’s eyes even more sparklingly blue than usual. He had to tell himself that he was eating dinner with Victor to keep him company on a bad day. It wasn’t a date. Not really.

It felt like a date. With Victor sitting across from him, laughing across a forkful of chocolate cake, it felt exactly like a date.

When they left the restaurant, Victor stopped to talk to the hotel concierge.

“I asked her to call you a cab to your hotel,” he told Yuuri. “It’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”

“Okay,” said Yuuri, hoping Victor would offer to wait in the lobby with him so they could talk a little more before their goodnight hug.

A goodnight hug in a public place. It wasn’t what he wanted at all.

When he opened his mouth he meant to say, “Will you wait with me?” but the words that came out were, “I’ll walk you back to your room.”

 _That’s a date thing!_ his brain screamed at him.

Victor smiled. He held out his hand unhesitatingly, as though he’d expected nothing less. Disbelieving, Yuuri took it, and they went together to the elevator and up, then along the too-short corridor. _Date thing_ , his brain repeated with every step closer to Victor’s door. They were five steps away from the moment of truth, the end of the date, the thing that always happened when one person walked the other to their door. Yuuri plucked up courage with every step, trying not to squeeze Victor’s hand too hard, trying not to shake with nerves. Then they were there.

“Thank you for having dinner with-”

Yuuri went up on his toes and mashed their lips together in the world’s most awkward kiss.

Instantly, he jerked back again. “Sorry! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

Victor blinked at him, surprised. “Why shouldn’t you have? Of course you can.”

“You didn’t let me, before.”

Victor ran a gentle thumb down his cheekbone. “Yuuri,” he said, “luchik, you were in love with me, and I… I was just lonely. It wouldn’t have been fair.”

He stepped forwards until they were flush together. Yuuri tilted his face upwards again, uncertain at first, not sure what angle to choose. Then Victor kissed him, and everything was simple. It was a long, soft kiss. Victor, whirlwind though he could be, kissed gently.

When it was over, Yuuri buried his face in Victor’s shoulder and breathed deep, trying to memorise Victor’s warmth and his scent.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Victor. “Go on. Your cab will be waiting.”

Yuuri pressed upwards for another kiss. Any lingering resentment he felt was washed away in that instant, because Victor kissed him back unhesitatingly. As though it was just a thing they did now. As though Yuuri could kiss him whenever he liked.

 

***

 

The next day the competition was in the afternoon and evening, which meant Yuuri had time to sneak away for a couple of hours in the morning to give his usual skating lesson at Hogwarts.

The men’s free skate came last of all, after the dinner break. Victor’s skate wasn’t on the same earth-shattering level as his short programme, but it was easily the strongest of the competition. His total score placed him indisputably at the top of the figure skating world.

Yuuri waited afterwards while Victor did his interviews and the rink emptied of fans, trying not to doze off where he sat. The long afternoon of sitting still had somehow left him sleepier than a day of training would have. He scrolled on his phone to keep himself occupied, reading tweet after tweet about Victor’s magnificent comeback win.

“You’re all over the internet,” he said, when Victor finally came out to meet him. “Everyone’s talking about you.”

“My fans are so sweet,” said Victor. He sat down on the bench and pulled out his phone, slinging his other arm around Yuuri’s shoulders “Smile!”

He posted the selfie with the caption: _Bitter rivals!!_

“We’d better go meet Yakov. He’ll be-“

“Looking for you,” Yuuri finished.

Victor grinned. “Are you staying for the gala?” he asked.

“Yes. But we’re leaving as soon as it’s over.”

“Will you stay with me tonight?” said Victor. He stifled a yawn behind his hand. “I don’t think I can stay awake much longer, and I want to see you in the morning.”

“Of course.”

Back in the hotel, in Victor’s room, in Victor’s bed, and in a too-large pair of Victor’s pyjamas, Yuuri dared to lean in for another kiss. They kissed for a while, in a way that left Yuuri shaky and wanting despite his exhaustion. But Victor’s eyes were blinking open and then drifting closed again. With each kiss, his lips were less responsive. Regretfully, Yuuri drew back. Victor’s head tilted and sank into the pillows. His hands, lying on top of the covers, were perfectly relaxed.

“Victor?” whispered Yuuri.

The only answer was Victor’s soft breathing.

Yuuri resigned himself to another night of the blissful torture so familiar from Nice, another night spent pressed against Victor’s warm body, willing himself to sleep.

 

***

 

The next morning, they both slept late. Yuuri woke first. He couldn’t bring himself to wake Victor so he went to shower and stood under the hot spray for longer than he probably should have. A waste of hot water, but it cleared his head and made him feel far more ready to face his little student room and an ice rink of whispers and stares.

When he came out, he found Victor sitting on the edge of the bed. He had Yuuri’s wand in his hands, just holding it, his fingers clasped lightly around the silver-inlaid handle. He was looking at it as though he’d never seen a wand before. As though he’d never had his own, familiar enough to fiddle with as they walked along the beach in Hasetsu. As though he’d never made a rose bush bloom out of the sand.

Yuuri almost opened his mouth to speak, though he wasn’t sure what he was going to say. Then Victor laid the wand down on the bed.

“Gospodi, I need a shower,” he said, and disappeared into the bathroom without another word.

Yuuri picked it up. The handle was slightly warm, as though Victor had been holding it for a while. After an uncertain moment, he slipped it into his pocket out of sight.

Victor didn’t mention it all day. Yuuri didn’t either, but as the minibus made its way back to Detroit he was very aware of the wand, his most precious possession, tucked safely away in his bag.


	14. Close enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter officially bumps this fic up to an E rating, but honestly it's all terribly innocent. If you were reading this fic waiting for the porn payoff... I'm sorry!
> 
> A million extra hugs to Tawabids for ensuring everyone had a nice time :)

Yuuri’s bedroom was lit only by a stripe of streetlight reflected off early snowfall, through his slightly open curtains and onto the ceiling. He lay looking up at it, warm under the blankets. He had disconnected his usual Skype call just a few minutes earlier. “Have a good day,” he’d said, and Victor had said, “Goodnight, sweet dreams.”

He wouldn’t be able to sleep right away. Not when he’d spent half an hour with Victor bare-chested on the screen in front of him. Not when he was hot and heavy between his legs.

It was only a week until the Grand Prix final. He knew he wasn’t going to beat Victor – nobody could. That didn’t matter. They would be skating on the same ice. It was his chance to stand next to Victor on the podium, and he wanted it so badly that sometimes he’d pause in his classwork or chores, overwhelmed by the ache of longing in his chest. But he was also nervous about the competition for an entirely different reason.

The next time he saw Victor, he wanted to do more than just kissing.

They’d kissed at Skate Canada. They’d kissed in Victor’s bed. Yuuri didn’t know how to ask if that meant they were a couple, if Victor was his boyfriend now, but it seemed that way. Victor told him he was beautiful. Victor had sent him flowers on his birthday, and a blue-grey cashmere sweater that was the softest, nicest thing he owned. But Yuuri didn’t want _things_.

“Maybe he still wants to take it slow,” he whispered to himself. It was the least terrifying of his worries; better than wondering if Victor didn’t want him, or obsessing over whether Victor would like his faltering attempts at giving pleasure. The thought of Victor holding him at arm’s length made him more angry than afraid. He deserved this. He’d worked so hard and waited so long and he wanted it so badly.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not just when he touched himself in the shower. It would pop into his head in class, or he’d find himself distracted and too flushed when he was working out. During practice sessions, Coach Celestino would say, “There’s plenty of energy, Yuuri, but you’re letting the details slip.”

_I’m sorry. I’m thinking about touching Victor Nikiforov’s dick._

“Victor,” he whispered in the darkness as he let his hands move over himself beneath the sheets. “ _Victor, please…”_

He knew there was a chance that he’d lose his nerve and nothing would happen at the Final, but he hoped. He hoped so much.

 

***

 

On the two short flights that took him and Coach Celestino to Quebec City, Yuuri alternated between listening through his programme music and trying to focus on the reading for his upcoming American History class.  Presidents he’d never heard of and dates that held no significance to him blurred and became skater rankings and component scores. Every historical portrait stared out from the page with Victor’s eyes.

“How are you feeling, Yuuri?” said Coach Celestino as they made their way to the taxi rank at Jean Lesage airport. “Anxiety acting up?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“You’ll let me know if there’s anything you need?”

 _I need to know whether I’m going to have sex with Victor tonight,_ Yuuri thought. “Sure, Coach,” he said.

“You’re going to dazzle everyone at this competition.”

“Sure, Coach,” said Yuuri again, and walked a little faster.

They bundled out of the airport into the dry, frigid air of a Canadian winter, and then, seconds later, into the warmth of a cab. Once they were moving, Yuuri texted Victor to say they’d arrived, and got a string of smiles and hearts in return, along with a message to meet up in the hotel bar. For the whole drive to the hotel, butterflies fluttered in his stomach.

He didn’t go to meet Victor straight away. He went up to his room, opened his bag, and carefully took out his birthday sweater. He changed, smoothed himself down as best he could, and inspected himself in the mirror. Just as usual: ordinary, bespectacled Yuuri Katsuki, with hair already rumpled even though he’d combed it thirty seconds earlier, his brown eyes wide and nervous. The sleeves of the sweater were just a fraction too long for him but he didn’t fold back the cuffs. He didn’t want to crease it.

“You’re a college student and a world class athlete,” he said. “You’re not a kid anymore.”

The mirror Yuuri Katsuki looked unconvinced.

His reflection followed him all the way down through the hotel, gazing shyly at him from elevator mirrors and plate glass windows, black marble columns and chrome door furniture. He found a restaurant, and a coffee room, and then, finally, a high-ceilinged lounge where people were sitting around tall tables sipping on beers and cocktails. He caught sight of a few familiar faces that he couldn’t put names to, perhaps trainers or organisers or officials from Skate Canada. And there, by the bar, was Victor. He was so startlingly beautiful, dressed in all in black, his hair glowing under the soft light. Yuuri could almost see the magic flowing in his veins.

Then another bar patron stepped out of the way and Yuuri could see the person Victor was standing with.

It was Chris.

 _Don’t do this again,_ he told himself firmly. _They’re just friends_.

To his own surprise, his unruly brain seemed to accept this. Chris and Victor had known each other for years. Of course they would spend time together. It helped that, at that moment, Victor caught sight of him, beamed with delight, and came bouncing over with outstretched arms. He didn’t even cast a backward glance at Chris.

Yuuri smiled back. So what if Victor and Chris used to have sex? It was over. It didn’t matter. Chris didn’t get to touch Victor anymore.  So what if Chris knew how to kiss Victor’s neck in just the right way to make him tilt his head back and sigh with pleasure? It didn’t matter. Yuuri could… he could…

His mind flashed back to some of the things that happened in the more intimidating porn videos. He couldn’t imagine himself even daring to try them, but he could imagine Chris doing them. He could imagine Chris and Victor doing them.

“Hello? Yuuri!”

“Hi,” Yuuri managed, and then Victor was hugging him and everything was okay again.

Victor was all energy, showing no sign that he’d only arrived from Saint Petersburg earlier that day. He chatted away, telling Yuuri how nice he looked in the sweater, showing him pictures of Makkachin playing in the snow, and giving insightful if not altogether complimentary opinions on the other finalists.

Chris had wandered off. Yuuri glanced around and caught sight of him talking to a tall man with floppy brown hair. The pair of them were angled into each other, effortlessly flirtatious. As Yuuri watched, Chris trailed his finger down the man’s sleek tie. The man grabbed Chris’s wrist, laughing, and pulled his hand away, but didn’t release it. Their eyes were locked.

It was a game, and they both knew exactly how to play.

Yuuri looked up uncertainly. Victor wasn’t wearing a tie. Even if he had been, stroking it probably wouldn’t be sexy if Yuuri tried it. Victor was so beautiful and Yuuri was just so… Yuuri.

He glanced sideways again. Chris was holding the tall man’s hand.

“Yuuri?” said Victor.

Yuuri jumped. “What?”

“You’re not paying attention to me,” said Victor, pouting a little.

“Oh. Sorry!”

“Let’s go somewhere private. I want to talk to you properly.”

“No!” said Yuuri. “Um. We should stay for a little while. Could you get me a soda? I’m just going to…”

He gestured towards the far end of the room, where a restroom sign pointed along a corridor.

“Okay,” said Victor, still pouty and offended.

As soon as Yuuri was safely around the corner, out of sight, he flopped back against the wall and wiped his hands over his face, trying and failing to get a grip on himself.

How could he possibly do this? Probably Victor would stop at kissing, would send him away if he asked for more. That would be torture but now it almost seemed like the best case scenario. If they went further than kissing he would be stuck trying to measure up to Chris Giacometti.

He took a peep back into the main part of the bar. Victor was chatting to the bartender while she fixed the drinks. Yuuri’s eyes lingered on the softness of Victor’s hair, the stretch of his shoulders under his shirt, the perfect curve of his ass. When Victor turned around with the drinks in hand, Yuuri jerked back around the corner, breathing hard. He closed his eyes and counted to ten.

“Hello, chéri.”

Yuuri’s eyes flew open. Of course, it was Chris again.

“What do you want?” he mumbled.

“Ah, Yuuri,” said Chris, “I remember that feeling. I thought I’d die if I didn’t get to have him.”

Yuuri’s cheeks flamed. “What? No! I…” he stammered.

“No?” said Chris. He raised an eyebrow, sceptically amused. “So why do you look like you don’t know whether to run away or strip naked and throw yourself at him?”

Yuuri’s hands clenched into fists. “Don’t laugh at me,” he said.

“I’m not laughing,” said Chris. “I told you, I know how you feel.” He leaned back against the wall, casually, as though Yuuri wasn’t having a crisis right next to him. “I was terrified the first time I came onto him. I was far from a blushing virgin but he still called me _petit_ as though I was a child. And he was _Victor Nikiforov_. A brush-off from him would have crushed me, but I wanted him so much I had to take the risk.”

“I don’t want to hear about you and him.”

Chris sighed. “Ne sois pas jaloux, Yuuri.”

“What?”

“Jealousy is only going to hold you back.” He shook his head. “Mon dieu, this is what I get when I try to be nice. I came over here to tell you that it’s normal to be scared but you’ll be fine.” He rested his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder just long enough to give it a little squeeze, not long enough for Yuuri to pull away. “Just like I was. Okay, chéri?”

“It’s different,” Yuuri managed, face red with humiliation.

“Yes,” said Chris. “He’s different with you. Believe me, you have nothing to worry about. He’s in love with you. Nothing else will matter.”

“D-do you really think so?”

“I know so. The hearts in his eyes can be seen from space. What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know how to…uh,” Yuuri stuttered, blushing even harder. He pushed the sleeves of the sweater up from where they’d slipped over his hands, feeling small and thin and ungainly. “How did you… come onto him?”

“We went out dancing. I made my intentions pretty obvious,” said Chris. He chuckled a little, low and gentle. “But you don’t need to seduce him, chéri. You did that a long time ago. You just have to trust him.”

“Trust him?”

“Talk to him. Ask for what you want.” He glanced sideways as Victor appeared around the corner. “And that’s my cue. Good luck, Yuuri.” He moved away, clapping Victor on the shoulder as they passed one another. “À bientôt! Amusés-toi bien!”

Victor threw a mildly enquiring look back at him, then shrugged. “Yuuri?” he said, sounding slightly worried as he took Chris’s place at Yuuri’s side. “I brought you your drink. Are you okay?”

Yuuri took his soda. He looked down into it, watching the ice cubes clink together.

_Ask for what you want._

_Trust him._

_Good luck._

He drew in a deep breath. “Doyouwanttohavesex?” he said.

There was a pause.

“What?” said Victor.

“Do you want to…” Yuuri began again.

“I heard,” said Victor. “I just wasn’t expecting it. Is that what’s got you so distracted?”

Yuuri nodded. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” he mumbled, still staring down into his drink. “I really want to. If… if you do. Not if you don’t, of course! Chris said I should just ask, so…”

“I wanted to back in Hasetsu,” Victor said. There was a smile in his voice. Yuuri ventured to look up. Victor looked back at him, intense in a way that made Yuuri’s belly go warm and tingly. “It would have been a bad idea, but I wanted to then and I’ve wanted to ever since.” He ran a finger over the back of Yuuri’s hand, still clenched around the glass. “I think it’s a better idea now.”

“So… we can?”

“Yes. I’d like that very much.”

Yuuri’s heart thumped. His insides bubbled with relief, joy and trepidation. He blurted out, “Can we do it now?”

“Now?” Victor blinked. His eyes seemed to grow darker. “Bozhe, ty menya ub'yosh',” he muttered. “Yes. Come on. My room.”

 

***

 

They started kissing as soon as the elevator doors closed, and didn’t stop until the recorded voice announced Victor’s floor. By the time they stumbled out, Yuuri’s whole body was thrilling with excitement and arousal, and his brain was well on its way towards panic.

Chris could say what he liked about Victor’s heart-eyes, but Yuuri still had absolutely no clue what he was doing.

His hand shook in Victor’s. As Victor opened the door to his room, Yuuri wanted to pinch himself to find out whether he was really awake. Maybe if he were dreaming he’d be able to go with the flow. In dreams, you could fly.

Victor pulled him inside, one hand sliding down to rest at the base of his spine, and Yuuri tensed, making a wordless noise of confusion.

Victor let him go instantly.

“Is this too fast?” he said. “We can stop. We can just kiss, or talk.”

“No, I want to,” said Yuuri. There were no words to describe how much he wanted to. “But… what if I’m not good at it? At… at sex,” he mumbled. His cheeks were burning. “I want you to like it.”

“ _Yuu_ -ri,” said Victor. He took Yuuri’s hand and kissed it. “I’m not going to give you a technical score. Do what makes you feel good and safe and happy. That’s all.”

“O-okay,” Yuuri stammered. He leaned forward to kiss Victor. It had always felt natural before, but now he didn’t know where to put his hands or how to move his lips. He was doing everything wrong before they’d even started.

Victor drew him over to the bed. Things were no better sitting down. Once their noses had bumped for the fifth time and Yuuri had somehow managed to elbow Victor in the knee, Victor set him gently at arm’s reach. “Let’s try something else,” he said. In one fluid movement he pulled his t-shirt over his head. Then he stood up and, without a pause, stripped off the rest of his clothes, finally stepping out of his underwear to stand in front of Yuuri perfectly naked.

Yuuri gaped at him. After a second he managed to shut his mouth, swallowing hard. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Victor naked, but in the hot springs things were different. It would have been the worst of bad manners to stare, and certainly he’d never directed his gaze between Victor’s legs. He couldn’t quite bring himself to do so now, but he was very aware that he could. Any time he liked, he could study every detail of Victor’s cock.

“Should I…?” he said, motioning to his own clothes.

“Not yet,” said Victor. He lay down, spread out on his back, and beckoned, coaxing Yuuri to kneel over him and stare down him as he lay there, vulnerable, like a living sculpture of perfection.

“You want to touch me, don’t you?” said Victor. “You can.” He took Yuuri’s left hand and placed it on the soft skin of his side, where Yuuri could just feel the ridges of his ribs. “See how my skin feels, how it tastes. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” Yuuri whispered. His attention was focused on Victor’s warmth under his hand. He stroked his fingers down and back up, tracing the swell of muscle and the curve of bone.

“Good,” said Victor. He smiled and reached up to touch Yuuri’s cheek. “That’s good.”

Emboldened, Yuuri placed his right hand on Victor’s other side. He stroked the skin there too, then, still more daring, he dropped his head and pressed his mouth against Victor’s chest. One quick kiss, then another. _Taste_ , Victor had said. Yuuri opened his mouth just enough to catch the faint, distinctive taste of skin. Tiny hairs brushed his lips. He felt Victor’s breath catch, felt him tremble.

“Is this okay?” he said, drawing back uncertainly.

Victor laughed gently, his chest vibrating under Yuuri’s hands. “Are you having fun?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then it’s perfect. Keep going.”

Yuuri managed a smile, flicking his eyes from Victor’s face to his body. There was a dusting of pale hair below his navel, leading down in a trail to the darker thicket that Yuuri wasn’t ready to focus on quite yet. He ran his fingers over the highest part of it. It was even softer than it looked.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. He wanted to look at nothing but Victor, touch nothing but Victor, for the rest of his life.

“Not as beautiful as you, luchik.”

The dusky pink of Victor’s nipples made a pretty contrast to his pale skin. Yuuri brushed his thumb over one, then his mouth. It hardened under his tongue. Victor gave a soft gasp and a chuckle.

“Mmmm – oh, that’s nice. Do it again.”

Yuuri did. The power to make Victor sound like that, husky and pleased, sent an added shock of warmth through him. He was so hard that the slight friction of his boxers was almost too much to bear. He moved up Victor’s body to kiss him on the mouth. They kissed slowly. Yuuri let himself explore the sweetness of Victor’s lips, then kissed the curve of his jaw, his neck, the dip between his collarbones. He shifted, and felt Victor’s cock against his thigh, hot and hard. Abruptly it was all too much for his brain to comprehend. He whimpered, dropping his head against Victor’s chest and trying to get his breathing under control.

“Yuuri,” said Victor, cradling the back of his head. “Shh. Lie back.” He eased Yuuri gently onto his back, somehow managing to peel him out of his sweater and t-shirt at the same time. Yuuri was too overwhelmed, too shaky to do more than cling onto Victor and kiss him desperately. He whined against Victor’s lips as Victor’s hand moved down to the button of his pants.

“Yes?” murmured Victor.

“Yes. _Please_.”

As Victor’s hand brushed over his cock through the fabric Yuuri jerked, making little helpless noises. Then Victor was sliding his pants down, and his boxers. After another moment Victor’s hand, slick with something, wrapped around him, and everything after that was a drawn-out blur of intensity and bliss. Teasing strokes, then firmer ones, Victor’s voice murmuring soft words that might have been Russian or English or no language at all, for all Yuuri could understand them. Then Victor’s _mouth_ , eye-wateringly, toe-curlingly good as Yuuri scrabbled at the sheets. His hips bucked, and he came, crying out wordlessly with jolt after jolt of electric pleasure.

His muscles were twitching with the aftershocks, and he was gasping for breath as though he’d just finished a free skate. He felt wonderful, warm and liquid and heavy. He blinked his eyed open, dazed, to find Victor gazing down at him with a fond smile.

”See? You’re perfectly good at sex.”

Yuuri was in a golden haze and couldn’t answer for what might have been minutes. Once he found the breath to speak, he panted, “But… I haven’t done anything for you.”

“Do you want to get me off?”

Yuuri nodded so violently his head bounced against the bed. “Yes. Of course I do!”

“I’d like that too.”

Victor was lying on his side, stretched out on the bed. Yuuri slid his hand over his hip and across his thigh. Victor quivered and let out a small, pleased sigh. Yuuri watched, mesmerised, as his own hand closed around the half-stiff shaft of Victor’s cock. It jumped against his palm, swelling just from his touch, the velvety skin growing taut. Yuuri squeezed, just to feel the shape of it, then pumped his hand down the shaft. Victor’s whole body gave a spasm.

“Lube,” Victor hissed, through his teeth.

“Sorry!” Yuuri whispered, letting go at once and rolling over to grab the bottle from the bedside table.

“Don’t apologise… ah… feels good…” said Victor, gasped half-sentences filthier than any curses.

With lube smeared over his palm, Yuuri took Victor’s cock again, stroking, fascinated by the feel of it. Victor rocked into the touch in a rhythm, lighter and slower than Yuuri liked it.

“Like tha-at,” Victor murmured. His voice died away with a little gasp and he craned up for a kiss, his lips parting. Yuuri kissed him fiercely. It was almost better than what had gone before. Victor made soft sounds and beautiful, breathy moans of Yuuri’s name.

“Just… just a little tighter… oh…”

Yuuri tightened his grip. Victor thrust up, babbling in Russian as he came, and collapsed back limply against the pillows. He was flushed pink all over.

For a few moments, Yuuri was frozen. He felt dazed, unable to quite believe what had just happened, even though he was still holding onto Victor’s softening cock. He finally thought to let go, and wiped his hand on the sheet.

“Was...” he began, and then swallowed and tried again. “Did you like it?”

Victor peeled his eyes open. “What do you think?” he said. His voice was breathless and bright with laughter.

“I…I…”

Victor rolled over on top of Yuuri, wrapping him up in his arms so tight that Yuuri giggled and squirmed. Victor didn’t let go. He nuzzled his face into Yuuri’s neck. “My beautiful, perfect, ridiculous Yuuri. I love your hands on me, and your lips, and your cock in my mouth. I’m going to love showing you how to fuck me.”

“V-Victor,” Yuuri stammered, delighted and scandalised, trying to hide his face.

“Beautiful,” said Victor again, kissing him, moving his mouth over Yuuri’s skin in a teasing trail. “Perfect. Accompli. Magnifique. Prelestnyy. Obozhayemyy.”

Right then, Yuuri couldn’t argue that he was just ordinary. He’d never felt more special.

 

***

****

The next morning, Yuuri woke a little overheated but still blissfully comfortable, cuddled up against Victor’s back. Drowsily, he pressed his nose against Victor’s naked shoulder and breathed in the scent of him, warm skin and expensive soap from their shower the night before. He lazed there while his brain booted itself up, until he suddenly realised what had woken him: the vibration of his phone on the nightstand as it rang and rang.

He bolted upright, ignoring Victor’s sleepy noise of complaint, and reached for the phone. The time was 9.37 and his coach’s name was flashing on the screen.

“Oops,” he whispered, and picked up the call.

“Yuuri! Finally! Did you forget to set your alarm? Your practise session starts at 10.30 and you need to eat and stretch.”

“I’m sorry!” said Yuuri, shoving at Victor’s arm, which had snaked out to drag him back under the covers. “I have to shower! I’ll come down for breakfast in a few minutes.”

“Alright. Make it quick. I want you to get in some solid preparation today. You won’t have much chance to be on the ice before the short programme tomorrow.”

“Yes, Coach,” Yuuri agreed. He batted at Victor’s hand again.

“Don’t leave,” Victor mumbled. “Yuuri, stay here with me.”

Yuuri hung up the phone in a hurry. He disentangled himself from the bedding and started to gather up his discarded clothes. “I have to go,” he said. “Coach Celestino is waiting.”

“Let him wait.”

 _“Victor_ ,” said Yuuri, exasperated, scrambling into his pants.

Victor sighed. “At least come and kiss me before you go.”

Yuuri did, though he made sure to pull away before Victor’s wandering hands could break his resolve. After a too-quick goodbye he bundled his sweater under his arm and took the elevator down from the floor of expensive suites to the more sensible rooms below. He hared along the corridor to his room, fumbling for his keycard, turned the corner, and found himself face to face with Coach Celestino.

“Uh…” said Yuuri, eyes flying guiltily to the door that he ought to be exiting, not entering. “I was just… I…”

Coach Celestino sighed. “I don’t want to know,” he said. “Just don’t let it affect your skating.”

Yuuri made a noise of assent, ducking his head. He shuffled around Coach Celestino, jammed his keycard into the slot and lurched into his room. Inside, he leaned back against the door and closed his eyes.

He’d had sex with Victor. He’d made Victor come, made him all flushed and moaning. Victor had cuddled him afterwards and called him perfect.

He took a deep breath, composing himself. Carefully, he shook out his sweater, folded it, and put it away. Then he took a flying leap onto the bed, bounced onto his back and lay there grinning up at the ceiling. He had to press his hands to his mouth to stop himself from squealing aloud.

 

***

 

He was late for practice, but not appallingly so; earlier than Victor, at any rate. Chris and the others were there already. Chris took one look at him, raised an eyebrow, and said, “I see you had fun last night.”

Yuuri couldn’t even manage to be embarrassed. He was too happy, so he just nodded.

“Well? Don’t I get a thank you?”

Yuuri hesitated. Then he lunged forwards and flung his arms around Chris. “Thank you,” he mumbled into the fabric of Chris’s shirt.

Chris burst out laughing. “Mon Dieu, tu es ridiculement adorable,” he said, returning Yuuri’s hug and ruffling his hair.

Victor arrived while Yuuri was still stretching, and came over to join him. He nudged his shoulder against Yuuri’s. Yuuri nudged back. Victor’s eyes were warm and smiling, full of knowledge of the previous night and anticipation of nights to come. Yuuri bent forwards over his raised leg to stretch his hamstring and to hide his own answering smile from the other skaters and coaches.

Practice was distracting, with Victor only a little way off, running through sections of his programme, standing by the barrier in intense discussion with Yakov, applauding when Yuuri landed his more difficult jumps. When Yuuri nailed the quad flip, Victor cheered aloud and swept across the ice to him. He caught Yuuri’s hand and they did a long, slow turn of the rink, side-by-side like teenagers on a date. By the time they finished their circuit they were both giggling.

Their coaches were standing at the barrier with identical expressions of impatience.

“Vitya,” said Yakov flatly, beckoning Victor with one commanding finger, “idi syuda.”

“Yuuri,” said Coach Celestino, “we will practise at that end of the rink.”

“Goodbye, luchik,” said Victor. “See you soon! I’ll make it a quick practice.”

“ _Vitya!_ Seychas!”

Victor blew Yuuri a kiss. He skated away backwards, waving, until Yakov’s yells reached full volume. Then he spun through a jump and meekly followed his coach.

“I _said_ don’t let it affect your skating,” said Coach Celestino.

“Um. Yes, Coach. Sorry.”

Coach Celestino rolled his eyes. “No you’re not,” he said. “Now, can we please focus on something other than your sex life? Perhaps the Grand Prix Final?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Oh for the love of god, will you stop smiling?”

 

***

 

Old Quebec in December was a Christmas wonderland, sparkling with lights and decorations. Yuuri spent the afternoon strolling around it with Victor, the pair of them bundled in coats and scarves, holding hands through thick mittens. Whenever the bitter cold got to be too much, they’d drift into a shop or a cafe. They only went back to the hotel for dinner because Yuuri had promised his coach.

“You need to be well-rested for the short programme. Get a good night’s sleep,” Coach Celestino ordered meaningfully. Yuuri did, dropping off easily in the post-coital glow, with his arm draped over Victor’s waist.

The next evening, Yuuri scored just half a point off his personal best. Victor re-broke the world record.

 

***

 

Saturday dawned.

Yuuri didn’t _have_ to go Hogwarts for his skating lesson, but he wanted to. The men’s free skate was scheduled for the late afternoon, so he had plenty of time to spare. Teaching the Hogwarts kids was always a distraction, a trip to a world where neither competitive skating nor televisions existed and absolutely nobody would ask him about his performance the night before. It was a simpler sort of skating, surrounded by giggling children on a lake among the heather-covered hills of Scotland.

He was on his way to his room to pick up his skates when he was accosted from behind.

“ _Yuu_ -ri,” Victor sang into his ear. “Your coach said you’re going up for a nap. Can I come with you?” He pressed his lips to Yuuri’s neck, a soft kiss followed by the lightest scrape of teeth. “I promise I won’t keep you awake.”

“Victor…” said Yuuri.

The tension in his voice must have been very obvious. Victor stepped back, looking surprised. “You can say no,” he said. “You understand that, don’t you?”

“I _know_ ,” said Yuuri, a little too sharp with nervousness. He paused, steeling himself. He didn’t want to spoil the weekend. He didn’t want to lie. “Victor, I’m not going to nap. I’m going to Hogwarts.”

Victor took another step back. He was staring at Yuuri as though he was seeing a total stranger. “Why?” he said. “You’ve finished school.”

“I teach a skating class on Saturdays,” said Yuuri. “A group lesson for a few of the kids. It’s only short… half an hour.” For honesty’s sake, he had to add, “I stay to watch them practise too, if I have time. And maybe have cocoa afterwards.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

Yuuri hung his head.

“I threw my crystal away,” said Victor.  “It’s somewhere at the bottom of the Neva.” His mouth was set tight. “I want to see yours.”

Yuuri didn’t ask why. He led the way to his room. The crystal was tucked away in his suitcase. He got it out and set it down on the desk next to the hotel stationery and the room service menu. “It won’t activate for another couple of minutes,” he said.

Victor made no move to pick it up or look at it more closely.

“Are you okay?” asked Yuuri.

“Of course I’m okay.”

Yuuri put on his boots and jacket, stuffed his mittens into his pockets, wrapped a scarf around his neck, and picked up his skate bag. He stood there, ready to go but still stuck waiting.

“I nearly said yes,” said Victor out of nowhere. He was sitting on the bed, looking out of the window as though he were talking to nobody. “Even back then I knew I would be a skating star, but I was eleven years old and they were offering me magic. If they hadn’t told me about the International Programme…”

“I just wanted to be normal. That’s why I said no,” said Yuuri.

He’d never admitted it aloud before. Not to anyone.

“Do you regret it?”

Yuuri shook his head. “I wouldn’t have met you.”

The stone gave a gentle chime, right on time. Yuuri looked at its familiar glow, and then back to Victor. “I’ll be back soon,” he said.

Victor just nodded, watching as Yuuri reached out his hand and let the world dissolve around him.

 

***

 

Victor won the Grand Prix Final, as the whole world knew he would. Yuuri didn’t quite steal silver from Chris, and didn’t care as much as he expected to. Both his bronze medal and Victor’s gold spent the night after the competition unheeded on the floor of Victor’s room, half buried in a pile of discarded clothes.

Three months later, Victor won gold at Worlds. That time, Yuuri did take silver. Chris was out with an injury, but Yuuri had a feeling it wouldn’t have mattered. The year had been one of immense progress for him. Coach Celestino’s training style suited him even better than he’d expected. He was improving constantly. On his best days, he knew nobody but Victor could beat him.

That year has been one of certainty. Victor would win; he was unbeatable. The next year would be different. Perhaps Victor would win again, perhaps he wouldn't - but either way, he would have to fight for it. Yuuri planned to fight back with everything he had.

Little by little, he’d become a big deal. When he took stock at the end of the season he almost didn’t recognise his own life. His face was on an energy bar back in Japan, and he was due fly to Tokyo to film a commercial for a men’s razor. His agent now talked about things like _star quality_ and _brand._ She loved the narrative of him and Victor. She told him he was a marketer’s dream.

“You’re such a sweetheart in interviews,” she said. “It’s perfect. A few more gold medals and you’ll be a household name.”

Yuuri explained that he didn’t want to be a household name. He just wanted to win.

“You can’t have one without the other,” she told him, unapologetically. “You’d better start getting used to the attention.”

He already knew what she meant. When he was in Detroit things were basically okay – just a few fans here and there who came to the rink to ask for a picture or an autograph. On his trips to Japan for interviews or photoshoots, people sometimes recognised him in grocery stores or restaurants or just walking in the park. He’d taken to wearing a facemask most of the time.

He knew Victor got the same treatment in Saint Petersburg, but Victor had been winning international medals for Russia since he was old enough to compete, and had the effortless celebrity persona to match the fame. Yuuri supposed he’d get used to it in time. His agent was right; he didn’t have a choice.

 

***

 

It was a long time since Yuuri had felt nervous calling Victor, but on this particular evening he had to stop and take a deep breath before he pressed the green button on Skype. Victor’s warm greeting and breezy chatter did nothing to set him at ease.

“Victor,” he interrupted, in the midst of a story about Yakov’s latest battle of wills with the tiny blond Yuri Plisetsky, “I need to ask you something.”

“What is it?”

“I know what music I want for my free skate next year, but I need your permission.”

“You want to use Enchantment,” said Victor.

Yuuri blinked. “Yes,” he said.

Victor smiled. “I hoped you’d ask me one day. Of course I want you to use it! Will you play my role this time?”

“No. I want to play the sprite, like before.”

“Perfect,” said Victor. “I’ll send you the other arrangement.”

“What?”

“Didn’t I tell you? There’s an arrangement of the piece for you to skate to alone. You can’t do it with all the emphasis on my theme in the first half, can you?”

“No. You didn’t tell me,” said Yuuri. He sighed to himself. Victor probably had no idea how much it would have meant to him to know that when he was fourteen years old.

“I must have forgotten,” said Victor. “Do you want me to re-choreograph it for senior level?”

“I want to do it myself.”

Victor was closer to the camera. Yuuri could tell he was scrolling and tapping away on his keyboard. After a minute, Yuuri’s computer pinged with a new email. He opened it, and clicked the link Victor had sent him.

“Arrived safely?” asked Victor.

“Yes, it’s downloading.” It only took a few seconds, and then the MP3 was safe on his computer. “Done.”

“Well?” said Victor. “Aren’t you going to listen to it?”

“I don’t want you watching me.”

Victor’s eyes turned soft. “Alright.”

They chatted a little more, and then Yuuri ended the call and opened the file. He sat with his eyes closed, listening and remembering and imagining, absorbed in the music until the very last note.

 _I love it_ , he texted Victor. _Thank you._

 _Impress me ;)_  Victor replied.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, yes, this is the chapter that wasn't supposed to exist... but poor Yuuri, he has waited a long time for some Nikiforov action.
> 
>  **Chris (to Victor)**  
>  À bientôt! Amusés-toi bien! = See you later! Have fun!
> 
>  **Victor (to Yuuri)**  
>  Bozhe, ty menya ub'yosh'. = God, you're killing me. 
> 
> **Yakov (to Victor)**  
>  Vitya, idi syuda. = Victor, come here.  
> Vitya! Seychas! = Victor! Now!


	15. Enchantment transformed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Done! Huge thanks to everyone who commented on this, it wouldn't have got finished without you! And even more thanks to Tawabids for being the best and most supportive beta anyone could ask for:)

The summer sun beat down on the beach. Vicchan was bounding in and out of the waves for the relief of the cool water. He'd be salt-encrusted when he dried out, and Yuuri would have to bathe him, with Victor looking on and commenting unhelpfully.

A week of sun and sea wind had left Victor's nose slightly pink - not burned, just sun-kissed. Yuuri had kissed it the night before, a gentle kiss to the reddened tip as they were drifting off to sleep. He felt as though that kiss would preserve all the memories of their short, precious summer break. It would probably be a long time before he got to walk on the beach with his dog and his boyfriend again.

"We should go back to Yu-Topia," he said reluctantly.

"You don’t sound like you’re in party mood," said Victor.

"I wish I could have you all to myself for one more night."

"You can’t skip out on your own farewell party. We’ll have a wonderful night. Food, drink, dancing, all your friends... and then bed."

Yuuri giggled. “Don't say bed like that. Well both drink too much and you'll be asleep the second you lie down."

Victor’s smile turned playful. "Then we’d better go back now. There's still time before the party."

Yuuri wondered how many favours it would cost him to get Mari to give Vicchan his bath. However many, it would be worth it.

 

***

 

“You look awful,” Phichit told him when they met at arrivals at Detroit Metro Airport.

“I…” Yuuri began, and then stopped. It had been less than twenty-four hours since he had said goodbye to Victor, and he already felt like if he tried to talk about it he’d break down completely.

Phichit gave him a sympathetic hug. “This is going to be worse than after Worlds, isn’t it?” he said.

“Sorry,” said Yuuri, managing a watery smile.

“It’s okay. I’ve planned a night in for us. Mochi ice cream and _The King and the Skater_. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” agreed Yuuri. If Phichit was willing to put up with his moping, Yuuri was willing to put up with watching _The King and the Skater_ for the seventeenth time.

“He’ll call you tonight anyway,” said Phichit.

Yuuri felt his lip quiver. “It’s not the same,” he said.

“Ice cream,” said Phichit firmly, and led him by the hand out to the parking lot.

 

***

 

Yuuri threw himself into his skating.

 _Enchantment_. There wasn’t a piece of music in the world that he had more of a personal connection with. It was the soundtrack to his life, inextricably intertwined with his skating and his emotions – anger, power, fear and love. He’d skated the routine Victor created for him, but if he wanted to beat Victor he had to create a routine of his own.

Victor was an intelligent skater, a performer, driven to surprise. That was the person he was, bright and brilliant and joyful. When Yuuri tried to capture some of the purity of Victor’s record-breaking short programme, he could manage only a pale echo of Victor’s effortless beauty. He watched recordings of himself on his laptop screen and knew he had to learn from Victor without copying him. Victor had skated from his heart, in a way only he could. Yuuri had to be his own skater, skating his own style.

In the end, the breakthrough he needed came from two distinct memories. One was his near-disastrous short programme at the World Championships, when he’d been so caught up in his skating that he’d forgotten half of his technique. The, other, far, far older, was the first time he’d ever skated with Victor, aged twelve, in the rink in Saint Petersburg. He had skated Victor’s simple routine, continuing on past the point they’d practised to, doing whatever the music told him, ending to Victor’s enthusiastic applause.

 

***

 

There was an unfamiliar boy with a prefect badge in Yuuri’s beginners skating class, the first weekend back at Hogwarts for the autumn term. Yuuri always had new kids at the beginning of the year, but most of them were young. This boy towered over the other beginners, and followed Yuuri’s instructions with a look on his face that said he was very aware of the phrase, ‘the bigger they are, the harder they fall’.

At the end of the lesson Yuuri left the boy clinging to his sloppily-conjured barrier and went to welcome the other students onto the rink for the open practise session. Alice was one of the first on. She gave Yuuri a hasty hello and a hug, before darting across the ice. The boy caught sight of her. An utterly besotted smile spread over his face.

 _Mystery solved_ , Yuuri thought, and hid a smile of his own.

He watched the pair of them out of the corner of his eye as he moved around the rink giving advice to one student or another, and hovered a near them a little longer than he needed to for some minor eavesdropping.

“Hold my hands,” Alice ordered.

“I’ll just pull you down with me.”

“No you won’t. I know what I’m doing.”

The boy took her hands, and she skated backwards, supporting him as he wobbled along. Yuuri could see the intense focus on his face, the look of a person used to doing things well.

“Don’t look so scared! I’ve seen you fly upside down no hands to catch the snitch.”

“Flying’s easy compared to this. Merlin, I feel like my legs are going to fall off! Can’t I use a balance spell?”

“No! The whole point is not to use magic. You need to be respectful of muggle culture.”

Yuuri blinked, and then skated hastily away before he could betray himself by laughing. It seemed like Britain’s wizarding children still had a long way to go when it came to their muggle studies, but he supposed it was a start.

 

***

 

His first GP assignment, the debut of his programmes, was Skate America again. This time it was Victor’s debut too. It wasn’t an unlikely chance, but to Yuuri it felt lucky. It was what he’d wanted: their first event of the year, and they were competing directly with each other.

They had a routine for events: meeting in the hotel, making love, practising, skating. Yuuri still got his own room, but he no longer bothered to pretend he was sleeping in it. For Skate America, the hotel they were staying in was a bland, cookie-cutter place – Kent, Washington didn’t have much to recommend it aside from the ShoWare Centre where the event was being held – but the bed was comfortable, and that was all Yuuri really cared about.

They spent the night together. They practised. Then, the next day, they skated their short programmes.

Yuuri’s went better than he could have hoped. His performance was at least as clean and confident as he’d ever managed during practice. The score was close, but it wasn’t enough. Victor ended the day ahead by two points.

That night, Yuuri kissed and touched Victor with a possessive intensity that surprised them both. He was gentle – they were never anything but gentle before competitions – but in spite of that his mouth left purpling marks on the pale skin of Victor’s inner thighs.

Afterwards, Victor lay drowsy and blissful against the pillows, smiling.

“I should tell you to save your passion for the ice,” he said, “but I don’t think you’re going to run out.”

“Go to sleep,” said Yuuri.

Victor closed his eyes. Yuuri lay awake for a little while, watching. Victor’s forceful personality was stripped away in sleep. He looked young and vulnerable. Yuuri searched his face for traces of the man who would be at the rink the next day – champion, perfectionist, innovator. There was something, maybe, in the serious lines of his face. The smile had faded. Perhaps he was dreaming of the competition. Perhaps he was dreaming of the two of them struggling for gold.

Yuuri closed his eyes and settled down to do the same.

 

***

 

Morning came.

Yuuri stood still on the ice, listening to the rink echo around him as the crowd fell quiet.

This was it. The debut of his Enchantment. He was ready.

It wasn’t all that different from the routine Victor had choreographed more than five years earlier. Anyone who’d seen the gala exhibition where they skated together would know that Yuuri had taken Victor’s ideas as a starting point. They wouldn’t know _how_ he’d done it: the hours of skating the routine over and over, not thinking about the competition, not thinking of it as a performance piece that had to reach a certain level of difficulty – just hearing the music and letting his body tell the story of the sprite and the hero.

He’d never choreographed his own performances, never really used his greatest strength: his musicality. Victor’s _Enchantment_ had been astutely crafted for effect. Yuuri’s hadn’t been crafted at all; it had been discovered, deep within the music. The movements were already there. All Yuuri had to do was find them.

For a long time, he’d thought he’d have to sacrifice the quad flip and the points that came with it. There just didn’t seem to be a place where the music called for it, and the music was more important than anything else. He’d felt such relief when he’d found it, it right at the end of the performance, one final leap of spiteful triumph as the sprite revelled in the hero’s defeat.

He had the stamina for it. Victor couldn’t have done it.

He let the memories of composing the routine fall away as the music began. A few quick steps to set the scene, and then he wasn’t skating under his own power anymore. He was standing still and letting the music move him.

Every note, every trembling vibrato or dancing arpeggio, had its effect on his body. Every note was a part of the story that had to be told. In every beat, Victor danced with him.

And the story itself… well, perhaps it wasn’t quite the story he and Victor had once told. Yuuri didn’t know if anyone would notice the subtlety of the changes, but he knew. The story didn’t end when the music stopped. In Yuuri’s mind, it went on. The hero remained lost in the wood, but not forever. The triumphant sprite couldn’t leave his conquest to die alone. There was so much more to say: how the sprite had watched in secret as the hero tried to find ways to survive; how the sprite had ensured that the hero would come across fruits and nuts and mushrooms, just enough to keep him alive; how, over days, or months, or years, the sprite had become enchanted too.

It wasn’t a happy story, or a kind one. It wasn’t a great love story for the ages. But it didn’t end in the hero’s lonely death. It ended far, far in the future.

When Yuuri landed the quad flip and went into his final spin, all of that was still to come.

 

***

 

“Perfect,” said Coach Celestino, when he hugged Yuuri and led him to the kiss and cry. “ _Perfect_. I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

Usually it seemed to take forever for the scores to be displayed. This time, dazed by cheers and effort, Yuuri felt like he had barely sat down before the number was there in front of him on the screen.

209.83

Beside him, Coach Celestino yelled in triumph and punched the air.

Yuuri needed a moment to process. He turned away from the scoreboard and sat looking out over the empty ice, smiling and shaky, as the reality sank in. Enchantment had claimed its second world record.

He wanted Victor. He wanted to be held and congratulated, but there wasn’t time. Victor was the next and final skater, readying himself for his own performance. Too soon after Yuuri had left the kiss and cry and eased his aching feet out of his skates, Victor skated out. All they could share was a smile and a few shouted words.

“Nicely done!” called Victor, bright and laughing, with the light of challenge in his eyes.

“Good luck!”

Yuuri tried to breathe through the tension in his chest. As usual, he had no idea what Victor was going to skate until the music started.

It was another piece that Victor had commissioned specially, soft and overtly romantic. The programme that went with it was gorgeous, with a tentative, dawning sensuality that grew in intensity as the music swelled. By ten seconds in, Yuuri had his suspicions about its meaning. Halfway through, he didn’t know if he wanted to hide behind his seat or to take Victor out back of the rink and strangle him. And yet, the skating worked its magic. As the programme came to its glorious climax he had almost forgotten about the competition. He was caught up in watching Victor skate and remembering that night in the hotel in Quebec City, pressing his mouth to Victor’s chest for the very first time, stroking the hot length of his cock.

Then the music ended. Even Yuuri’s memories couldn’t make him forget that they were just moments away from finding out Victor’s scores.

Victor skated over towards the kiss and cry, waving to the crowd and throwing a sly smile in Yuuri’s direction. He accepted a hug from Yakov and sat down to wait.

“It’ll be close,” said Coach Celestino under his breath.

Yuuri already knew that. Only Victor could have held an audience so spellbound despite the record-breaking routine that had gone before. It had been masterful. As the seconds ticked by he forced himself to breathe slowly through his nose. He couldn’t unclench his jaw or his fists.

The spectators were growing noisier in their impatience. He could hear some of them calling Victor’s name, others calling his own. Then the announcer called for the scores, and everyone went silent. There wasn’t the slightest murmur until the numbers appeared. Then the noise erupted again.

This time, most of the yells were for Yuuri Katsuki.

It was there on the scoreboard, incontrovertible. Victor Nikiforov, second place. Yuuri Katsuki, half a point ahead.

He was the Skate America gold medallist, and he’d beaten Victor.

Instantly, his gaze flew back to the figure in the kiss and cry. Victor was still staring up at the results. Yuuri couldn’t see his face, or read anything in the set of his shoulders. Then Victor jumped to his feet and spun around.

“Yuuri!” he called. His eyes found Yuuri’s. His smile was blinding as he held his arms wide. “ _Yuuri!_ ”

Yuuri scrambled up and ran towards him, vaulting a barrier, ignoring all protocol. He flung himself in to Victor’s arms. On skates, Victor towered over him. The hug was awkward. Victor’s cheek was pressed to the top of his head, and Victor’s laughing voice was loud in his ears over the noise of the crowd.

“Did you like my programme, luchik?”

Yuuri thumped him on the chest as best he could without breaking the hug. “You’re _impossible._ I can’t believe you did that.”

“And you’re amazing. My gold medallist. Yuuri, did you choreograph a part for me?”

Yuuri nodded. “Enchantment’s a routine for two. You know that.”

“I’ll learn it in time for the Final,” said Victor. “No matter who wins, we’ll skate it together at the gala.”

 

***

 

The next morning, while Victor showered, Yuuri sat up against the pillows in the hotel bed and browsed through the latest YouTube updates from the night before. He watched some commentary here and there, and rewatched a couple of the interesting programmes from other competitors. Then he clicked on a video with Victor’s smiling face looking out at him from the preview.

“I think it’s still fair to say that Nikiforov is the best technical skater in the world,” said one commentator in the TV studio to another, “but this time Yuuri Katsuki just managed to edge him out with a thrilling display of passion and musicality. Now let’s go to Danika, who’s live with four times Grand Prix Final gold medallist Victor Nikiforov.”

The video cut to an interview, Victor standing with a pretty young woman who was obviously trying to stay professional in the face of a gigantic crush.

“Victor, you have a very long history with Yuuri Katsuki,” she said. “In fact, you first skated with him in the 2008 World Championship gala – to the same piece of music he just used for his free skate – and you acted as his coach when he won a surprise bronze medal in the 2011 World Championships. How does it feel to see your one-time protégé take gold?”

Victor tilted his head. “I’m happy for him, of course,” he said. “I’ve always known he’s something very special, and I’m proud of him. But I’ve never liked being second best. I promise you, he won’t hold that world record for long.”

“Should we expect an interesting season?”

“It’ll be full of surprises,” said Victor. He swept back his perfect hair and smiled his bright, joyful smile. “I’m going to love every minute of it.”

Yuuri shut the laptop, silencing the interviewer’s next question as the door of the en suite opened. Victor came out, towelling his hair, casually naked. He bounced onto the bed and leaned in for a quick kiss. Then he trailed his finger down Yuuri’s neck to hook gently into the gold chain.

 “So,” he said, “you beat me.”

Automatically, Yuuri’s hand went to cover the ring. He could only imagine the dismay on his face. “It’s one event,” he said. “It’s not the final.”

“You still won.”

“I…” Yuuri began, and swallowed hard. He had to force the words out. “I said I’d return it to you when I beat you.”

Victor nodded. “I knew I’d get it back,” he said.

Slowly, Yuuri reached up to find the clasp of the chain. His fingers fumbled a little getting the catch open, but all too soon he was tipping the chain to pool in Victor’s hand, and the ring with it.

“Thank you,” said Victor. He pulled the chain free and let it fall on the bed. Then he took the ring between finger and thumb, holding it up so the light glinted off it. “It’s a part of Mama. It means a lot to me.” He met Yuuri’s eyes and smiled softly. “I wanted it back so I could give it to you again. I think you should wear it properly now. Will you?”

Yuuri couldn’t speak. He felt tears welling up in his eyes. They shook loose and trickled down his cheeks as he nodded.

“Give me your hand, luchik.”

Yuuri placed his hand in Victor’s. He was worried that the ring – a woman’s ring – might be too tight for him, but it slid onto his finger easily. If anything, it was a little too loose. Victor’s mother had probably been tall, he thought, trying to remember the woman he’d met only once. He still knew very little about her. With a sudden shock, he realised that he didn’t even know her name. Victor always called her Mama.

It wasn’t the moment to ask. He only wanted to cling to Victor, and cry, and laugh and be happy.

 

***

 

“What do you want to do today?” Victor said, once Yuuri had got the emotional overload out of his system. “Watch the ladies and the ice dance?”

Yuuri shook his head. “Let’s go somewhere.”

They went into Seattle. Yuuri would have preferred to find a quiet trail for a hike, but Victor flatly refused to go hiking in either his workout trainers or his $1000 Oxfords. Instead, they played tourist for a few hours. It was a crisp and chilly day, but bright. From the top of the Space Needle they could see for miles, across the blue bay to the mountains. The stood there for a while, watching the boats and listening to the gulls calling.

“I like being by the ocean,” said Yuuri. “It reminds me of home. Detroit is nice, but the lakes aren’t quite the same.”

“We’ll live by the ocean one day,” said Victor.

They rounded off their time in Seattle with an excellent lunch and a stroll around the stalls at Pike Place Market. It seemed a shame to head back for the gala exhibition, but since the spectators would consider them both must-see acts they didn’t have a choice.

Yuuri went back to his own room to change. For form’s sake, he’d left his bags there, though the bed was still untouched. It was while he was unzipping his suitcase that he realised his ring finger was bare.

He stared down at his hand, sick horror settling in his stomach. The ring was gone.

Frantic, he glanced around, as though by some miracle it would be there on the floor. It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. They’d been all over Seattle that day. It could have slipped off anywhere as his fingers shrank in the cold.

“No,” he said aloud.

He scrambled over one of the twin beds to reach into the nightstand drawer between them. His fingers closed around the familiar smooth handle of his wand. Half kneeling on the bed, he moved the wand in a wobbly arc.

“ _Accio_ ring,” he said.

He waited, silently begging. The summoning charm was unpredicatable. Sometimes the object arrived instantly, simply appearing out of nowhere. Sometimes it had to fly through the air, even breaking windows in its path.

Nothing happened.

His hand was shaking. He pictured the ring in his mind, thinking about its colour and weight and smoothness. The more clearly he pictured it, the easier it should be to find. He tried to focus on that, and tried to ignore the fact that summoning wasn't one of his best spells. He’d never summoned an object from further than the next room before.

“ _Accio_ ring.”

Still nothing.

“Please,” he whispered, and said the spell again. Nothing. He ran out of the room, took the elevators down to the lobby, and shoved through the revolving doors into the parking lot. He didn’t even think to hide his wand.

“ _Accio_ ring.”

He waited, longer than it could possibly take for the ring to fly the twenty miles from central Seattle. Then he barged back into the hotel and made his way to the floor of suites. He didn’t bother to knock on Victor’s door. His wand was already in his hand, so he walked straight in and through the living area to the bedroom.

“Victor…” he gasped.

”Yuuri? What’s wrong?”

Yuuri could feel tears trickling down his cheeks. “I lost the ring,” he choked. “Your mother’s ring, I lost it. It was loose; I think it fell off while we were out. It might be in the street, or… or anywhere. Victor, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I lost it.”

Victor’s face was very still.

“When did you last have it?” he asked, with a tense sort of calm.

“I don’t know. I r-remember looking at it in the cab to Seattle…”

“You’ve checked your room? What about the lobby and the elevators?”

“It’s not there! I tried summoning it. I would have found it.”

“Try again.”

“ _Accio_ ring!”

Nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri whispered. “I could go back to Seattle, I could try from there… but I don’t know how close I’d have to get. And what if… if someone picks it up, they could take it anywhere.”

“Give me your wand.”

Yuuri froze. “But… you can’t…”

“You know I can,” said Victor. He took the wand from between Yuuri’s clenched fingers and looked down at it for a moment, holding it as though he were testing the weight and the balance. Then he swept it smoothly along the line of the spell.

“ _Accio_ kol'tso.”

A bright flash of gold darted out of nowhere into his waiting hand.

Yuuri’s knees buckled and deposited him on the bed. He buried his face in his hands, whispering thanks in Japanese to any gods that might be listening.

Victor knelt in front of him on the deep hotel carpet. “Let me put it back on for you,” he said.

“ _No_ ,” said Yuuri. Instinctively, he tucked his hands into his armpits. “You keep it. I might lose it again.”

“I can summon this ring from anywhere in the world. I’ll always find it and I’ll always give it back to you.”

Yuuri shook his head. “You hate magic.”

“I hate wizards,” said Victor quietly. “But I still am one. Magic is a part of me; there’s nothing I can do to change it. Please give me your hand.”

Tentatively, Yuuri held out his right hand. Victor slid the ring onto his finger. Once it was safely back in place he tapped it with the tip of the wand.

“ _Reducio_.”

The ring contracted until it was perfectly snug.

 

***

 

Going back to Detroit after spending time with Victor was, as always, awful.

It wasn’t that he was truly lonely there anymore. The other skaters in the club had got used to him over time; there were fewer stares and more smiles. His classmates were friendly too. Some of them even followed his competitions, not because they were interested in figure skating but because they liked him and wanted him to do well. On his first day back he got plenty of congratulations on his world record from people who had no idea what beating Victor Nikiforov meant. But none of that changed the fact that he wouldn’t see Victor anywhere except a laptop screen until the Grand Prix Final, and after that perhaps not until the World Championships.

He told himself he wasn’t going to cry on Phichit’s shoulder this time. He was going to cope sensibly with the fact that he and Victor lived busy lives half a world away from each other.

They had their first ice cream and movie session two days later. Sadly, there was nothing stronger than soda to go with the ice cream. Yuuri didn’t drink in general, especially not in countries where he still wasn’t legally allowed to, but there were times when he felt a little bit of regret that his best friend was only sixteen.

Ice cream didn’t really help. By Saturday he was definitely moping. Nothing seemed fun. He had to drag himself back from training to his room and tell himself that he really did have to touch the crystal and go to Hogwarts. He didn’t want to let his students down.

When he actually appeared in the corridor by the international classroom he began to feel a little better. The autumn sun, low in the sky, was streaming in through the big window. He went over to it and looked out over the hills, feeling sad that it was still October. In another month he’d be teaching out on the lake, casting his magical ice out over the dark water, skating under scudding clouds or iron-grey skies, or amid the year’s first few flurries of snow.

He made his way down through the confusing corridors of Hogwarts and pushed open the door to the little classroom where he created his skating rink. He stopped dead on the threshold. It wasn’t a little classroom. It was a long, wide, tall room with the feeling of space that had somehow been stretched, paved with a sheet of ice. On the ice, in the middle of a spin, was a single skater.

Yuuri watched, astonished, as Victor dropped into a sit spin, added a twist, and then came smoothly back up. As he came out of the spin and into a step sequence he caught sight of Yuuri, and his expression went from serene to laughing. He finished the sequence and skated a half-moon around the rink, hissing to a stop in front of Yuuri.

“Yuuri! Put your skates on.”

There was no way Yuuri was stopping to put his skates on. He just threw himself at Victor, knocking him backwards so they ended up in a tangle on the ice.

“Ow,” Victor complained mildly.

“What are you doing here? What’s happening? How did you-” Yuuri began, and then decided he didn’t care. He kissed Victor. It was closeness and comfort and coming home.

“I wanted to surprise you,” said Victor, when Yuuri finally let him breathe. “I’m your co-instructor now! I’ll be here every Saturday.”

“Oh… _Victor_.”

Yuuri didn’t get in nearly as much kissing as he wanted to before Victor gave a wriggle and asked, “Can we stand up now, luchik? I think this is the least comfortable place I’ve ever kissed you.”

“Yes. Sorry.”

Yuuri helped Victor to his feet and found his skate guards for him. They stood at the edge of the rink, with Yuuri tucked comfortably under Victor’s arm.

“How did you make the rink?” asked Yuuri. “You don’t have a wand.”

Victor reached into his sleeve and drew out a simple, elegant wand of pale wood. “Maple and unicorn hair,” he said. “It feels different to my old one, but I like it.”

“Can I hold it?”

“Of course,” said Victor.

He handed the wand to Yuuri. It was smooth and warm, and gave off an air of being very, very expensive. Yuuri smiled. It was perfect for Victor.

“There are things I hate about this world,” said Victor, “but I asked myself, what would Mama have wanted? For me to sit alone in Saint Petersburg, being angry and missing her… or for me to spend my Saturdays here, teaching skating and spending time with the person I love? It was an easy decision after that.” He gave Yuuri’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Just don’t ask me to talk about magical ethics with Professor McGonagall and I’ll be okay.”

“You’re sure?”

“I think so. I can always change my mind. But not before the Final! You need to teach me my half of Enchantment.”

At that moment the door opened and the first gaggle of skating students came in. They were first years, as tiny and nervous as Yuuri had once been. They stopped when they saw Victor, and stood nudging one another and looking at him with curious eyes.

“Hello!” Victor greeted them. “I’m Victor Nikiforov – Yuuri’s boyfriend and biggest rival. I’m here to show you some _real_ skating.”

Yuuri stepped back and watched as more of the students trickled in and instantly fell under Victor’s spell.

One day, he hoped, Victor and he could train together, skate together, and live together somewhere by the ocean. But for now… for now, it would be enough to talk every day, to snatch celebratory post-competition nights in hotels, and to spend snug hours warming their fingers around mugs of cocoa in the Hogwarts great hall. Yuuri had his skating, and his magic, and was very much in love. Who could really ask for more?


End file.
